Coffee Talk
by Pandorama
Summary: Luka, Abby, and revelations over coffee. S9-ish, AU.
1. Vile and Potent

Disclaimer: The characters herein belong to NBC and the talented writers of ER. I do not claim to have created them or their personalities, only the situations I've invented for them. Dedicated, as always, to my creative muses.

Luka sat hunched over a cup of scalding hot, bitter coffee trying to bring himself to choke it down. Ike's made the most potent and vile coffee he'd ever tasted, but it was the only surefire cure he'd found to a hangover in his thirty-seven years. The previous night had been a mistake, one in a chain of many. He unconsciously made a face thinking about it. He'd wound up in yet another seedy bar downtown, and ended up with yet another nameless woman in his bed when he woke in the morning. It was all he could do not to vomit with disgust for the person he'd become in the past months. He let his head rest on his palm as he stared into the ceramic cup of mud in front of him. How had he come to this point? A year ago, he wasn't at all like this...he was dangerously close to happy, in fact. He inadvertently let out a wry burst of laughter. Of course. That was the difference between now and a year ago...Abby. A year ago, he had that going for him, and now? He'd royally screwed that relationship over. It was his own fault, he knew, his own inability to move forward, to let go. He had no intention of denying that he was broken, but he also had no intention of changing that. There was no point, nothing to work for. He sighed and closed his eyes as he threw his head back and chugged the disgusting black liquid. His eyes opened as he set the cup down and shuddered, and a little jolt went through his body as his gaze fell upon the very person he'd been lamenting only moments ago.

She stood just inside the doorway, bundled in a heavy winter coat, snowflakes scattered in her hair. Her cheeks were red from the cold, and a sort of bewildered look on her face forced Luka to stifle a chuckle. Wrapping her arms around herself to stay warm, she scanned the interior of the dingy cafe for a familiar face. Luka's heart jumped ever so slightly as her eyes fell on him, and he gave her a friendly sort of nod, inviting her over. He tried to wipe off the table as she made her way over. She stood in front of him, shivering slightly, and attempted a smile. "Mind if I join you?"

He shook his head and gestured to the booth seat opposite him. "No. Have a seat."

She sunk into the vinyl cushion and set her bag down next to her with a sigh. "Just get off?"

"No. I have to be back in a few." He checked his watch. "You?"

She gave him a smirk. "I have another shift in an hour. I figured there was no point in going home."

He gestured to the waitress and mouthed the word "coffee," pointing to Abby. "Sorry to hear it."

"Me, too." She yawned and rubbed her forehead. "Romano hates me."

"Romano hates everyone." He passed her a few packets of sugar as the surly looking waitress set down a mug in front of Abby, spilling it a bit. She didn't apologize, and Abby rolled her eyes as she tore open the sugars and emptied them into the coffee. Luka watched her, trying not to let her catch him doing so. Despite her disheveled appearance and the darkened circles under her eyes, he was still mesmerized by her. He'd always found her beautiful, always found himself staring. He tore his eyes from her guiltily and cleared his throat. "Why would Romano schedule you for a double? That's compromising patient care."

Abby shrugged and took a sip of the vile substance in her cup. Luka tried not to smile as she made a face. "We've been understaffed since Lydia left, and we've had to pick up the slack until he gets around to hiring someone else." She shuddered and took another gulp. "That's Romano. It's all about his agenda."

Luka shook his head. "Why don't you go to the board? It's not fair to you or to the patients."

"Because we all need the money." She yawned again. "And because, unfortunately, we all know how to handle it."

Luka gave her a sympathetic smile. "Well, just try not to fall asleep putting in an IV."

She waved him off. "Eh, I could do it in my sleep, anyway." She grinned. "Remember, I went to med school, too. I know how to stay awake for a week at a time."

Luka nodded. There was something about just sitting there with her that lessened the pounding in his head. He shifted around uncomfortably. "How are things with you and Carter?"

Abby snorted. "Yeah, like you want to know about that."

"I was just trying to make little talk," he protested.

She patted his hand. "Small talk. And for the record, I don't discuss relationships with my exes." She picked up her bag and set a few dollars on the table as she stood up. "I've got to get back and try to take care of a couple things before my shift starts."

Luka grabbed her wrist as she began to turn away, and looked at her with his brows arched. "For the record, I'm not your ex, Abby. I'm your friend."


	2. The Last Word

She found herself at Ike's again the next day, leaning heavily against the counter as she waited for the same surly waitress as yesterday to take notice. Her legs felt as though they weighed a thousand pounds each, and she tried to stifle a yawn, but failed. After her double shift the day before, she'd stumbled home with the intention of going straight to bed. She'd been dismayed to find Carter waiting on her front steps, Chinese carryout bags in hand. It was sweet, sure, but not at all what she'd wanted for the evening. She only wanted to fall into bed and sleep, but he'd stuck around long past his welcome in that sort of insistent way he had. She hadn't had the heart to tell him to leave, and somehow he'd charmed his way into her bed. It had taken her a bit of effort not to fall asleep on him...or rather, under him. Some days she had no idea why they were together, and those days were becoming more frequent of late, truth be told. She gestured to the waitress again, but was ignored. A deep, accented voice shook her from her thoughts. "Come here often?"

She looked up to see him looking only slightly less haggard than the day before. "Only when I have to."

He motioned for her to follow him to a table. "Sit. You look terrible."

"Thanks." She gave him a look.

He shook his head somberly. "No, I mean it, you don't look very well." He studied her. "Is everything okay?"

She shrugged. "Just tired. Nothing a cup of jet fuel won't take care of."

Luka placed a finger under her chin and inspected her face. There was no color in her cheeks, and the bags under her eyes had gotten darker. "I'm worried about you. I don't think you should be working today."

"Thanks for your assessment, Dr. Kovac, but I'm fine." She finally managed to get the waitress's attention. "I'm going to try and steal a few minutes in the call room if I can."

He nodded and waited for their mugs to be filled before striking up conversation again. "So, where's Carter? I know he's on."

Abby eyed him and calculated her answer. "He had something to take care of, apparently. That's what he said, at least." She seemed skeptical, herself.

"You don't believe him?"

She rolled her eyes. "It's not like I think he's fooling around with somebody in sutures or anything. He was just...evasive." She raised one eyebrow and looked at him pointedly. "Besides, messing around in sutures is your thing, if I'm not mistaken."

"That wasn't nice." Luka narrowed his eyes and took a sip of coffee, shuddering. "I knew she'd go and tell you."

Abby shrugged. "Lewis doesn't keep secrets. Especially ones that involve you and a patient's mother." She shook her head thoughtfully. "When did you become such a man whore, anyway?"

Luka's mouth fell open. "A what?"

"A man whore. As in, messing around with every woman in the ER." She tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear. "Chuny doesn't keep secrets, either."

Luka's face flushed. "I'm not a man whore, thank you. Anyway, since when is my sex life your concern?"

She smirked. "Since when is my love life yours?"

He nodded. "Touché."

"But seriously, Luka, what the hell is up with you lately? You were never like this, you were always...I don't know, the quiet, sensitive guy."

He looked away, embarrassed. It was obvious that there was something amiss, and he knew she would catch on sooner or later. She knew him, and she knew he wasn't the type to be sleeping around. He didn't want to open that particular wound to her, though, certainly not before a long shift began. He forced a sly smile. "Well, since we broke up I've just been out of my mind...you know, deprivation." He rested his arms behind his head. "You must know how it is, trying to find something to compare."

She burst out laughing. "Cute, Luka, real cute."

"But you have to admit it...Carter can't measure up, right?" He winked at her.

"This conversation is so over." She stood up. "I can't believe I ever thought you were charming."

"I'm still very charming," he shouted as he watched her leave. She turned around and nodded patronizingly, and gave him a thumbs-up. He sighed and sunk back into the booth, realizing she'd just stuck him with the bill. He had to smile. She always did have the last word.


	3. Caretaker

A week passed before they had another run-in. Luka almost walked by Ike's when he saw her through the window, and he was startled by her appearance. He hurried inside and sat down without waiting for an invitation. She was ghostly white, eyes sunken in, looking as though she'd lost at least five pounds in the past week. He reached out and placed his hand over hers, which was ice cold. "Jesus, Abby. You look half dead."

She gave him a weak smile. "Just a cold. Don't worry about it." She reached for her mug of coffee, and he noticed her hands shaking slightly. She caught him watching and frowned. "Stop that. You're paranoid."

"Abby, you're scaring me. You look like you're going to pass out any minute." His voice was quiet. "Have you eaten anything yet?"

She shook her head. "I'm not all that hungry in the morning."

He motioned to the waitress. "I'm getting you a bowl of soup. You need something hot, your hands are freezing."

"Luka..."

He ignored her and told the waitress to bring a bowl of chicken soup and a glass of juice. "Where's Carter?" He found himself genuinely irritated that Carter was absent again.

She pursed her lips. "Why? Does he need to be with me every second?"

Luka looked at her seriously. "Because he should be looking out for you. You're obviously not healthy."

"He's not my caretaker." She eyed him. "And neither are you. Anyway, I told you, I'm fine."

He leaned across the table and lowered his voice to a stage whisper. "Believe it or not, I still care about you. And I'm going to worry whether you say I can or not." He reached out and cupped his hand under her chin. "Don't tell anyone, but I really am a nice guy."

She smiled as the waitress set the soup and juice in front of her. "I know, and thank you for trying to look out for me." She took a sip of juice. "But there isn't anything to worry about."

Luka rested his chin on his hand and watched her slowly pick the noodles out of her soup with a fork and study them each carefully before inserting them in her mouth. He chewed on his lip, contemplating what to say. Finally, he broke the silence. "You know you can talk to me," he said softly. "If you need me, or anything..." He trailed off, leaving the rest to be implied.

She looked up at him, a little smile softening her face. "Thanks."

He nodded and absentmindedly stirred his coffee. He gestured to the sugar, which was on Abby's side of the table. "Can I..."

She passed it to him, not looking up. Her lips tightened a little, and then relaxed. "I think it's over, anyway."

"What?"

"Me and Carter" She still didn't meet his eye. "It's been going downhill for awhile, now. We sort of crashed and burned last night."

Luka wasn't sure if he should ask, but his curiosity got the better of him. "Crashed and burned how?"

She snorted, a sarcastic sort of laugh. "He just sort of announced that he's going back to Africa. Didn't even discuss it with me." She rubbed her face with her hand. "He said something about how his life has a purpose there, or some idealistic crap like that. As in, I'm not worth sticking around for. It was very charming of him."

Luka frowned and shook his head. "Carter is an idiot, then. And a jerk." He paused, trying to decide if he should continue. His voice dropped. "He doesn't know what he's talking about."

She blushed and brought her coffee mug to her mouth to hide the rosy color seeping over her pale cheeks. "You should be in a real relationship, Luka. You're a good guy. I don't get why you keep messing around." She sighed and dug in her purse for her wallet.

Luka stopped her. "My treat." He gave her one of his rare, genuine smiles, reserved especially for her.

She smiled and stood up, placing a hand on his shoulder as she left. "Thanks. And I mean it. Quit screwing around and find yourself a decent woman."

Luka watched her leave, tightening her coat around her hunched shoulders as she braved the cold outside. "I already did," he muttered, cursing himself yet again for letting her go.


	4. That Bad

He pulled on his thick, wool gloves as he headed through the doors of County General out into the stinging January cold. His breath formed little clouds around him in the chilly air. When he reached the coffee cart, a smile spread over his face to see Abby already standing by it, pouring sugar packets into her paper cup. He came up behind her and cleared his throat as she emptied a sixth packet into her cup. "That bad, huh?"

She turned to face him, and his stomach dropped to see her looking even worse than she had a few days before. Her lips were pale, almost blue, her face devoid of even the slightest hint of color. Her eyes were red and she looked as though she'd lost more weight. Despite it all, she managed a small smile. "Carter left this morning. We were up all night screaming at each other."

Luka sighed. "I'm sorry."

"I'm not." She let out a small laugh. "It was doomed from the start."

"Still." Luka handed the vendor a few crumpled dollar bills and filled his own paper cup full of steaming black liquid. "You deserve better than him."

Abby raised one eyebrow. "I thought you said he could have me."

Luka frowned and stirred his coffee. "I said a lot of stupid things that night. None of which I meant." He took a sip. "I never wanted to hurt you. I just lost my cold."

"Your cool. You lost your cool." She shook her head. "It's in the past. I said a few mean things, too, but it's over with. Nothing we can do now."

He smiled slightly. "Right. Should we go back before they send a search party?"

She nodded and they began heading towards the main entrance. She stopped suddenly and Luka felt her grip his arm tightly. The coffee cup slid from her hand and he could hear her mumble something incoherent before she collapsed against him.


	5. Oblivion versus Reality

…..…..Thanks for all the reviews. Had to look up what "up the duff" meant. I revised this nine or ten times, so I hope it's up to par...kept getting frustrated and doing it over. As for Carbabies, eew. Just eew……….

She was vaguely aware of disembodied voices calling her name and of bright lights as she swum in and out of consciousness. She had no idea how long it had been; minutes, hours, days, it was all the same. Everything was spinning, her head pounded, and her body felt like a dead weight. A shooting pain that she couldn't identify was followed by a warm feeling...and then nothing.

Her eyes opened slowly, blinking to clear her blurry vision. Everything hurt and she felt incomprehensibly weak. A face came into focus...dark hair...sharp features...strong jawline...a pair of eyes so intense they could burn a hole in her. She heard her voice as though it was foreign to her. "Luka?"

She could see the distress in his eyes as he looked at her and moved to sit gently on the edge of her bed. A cardboard cup of coffee was in his hand, and she couldn't help breathing in the sweet aroma. _Real coffee. Coffeeshop coffee._ He'd gone to the Starbucks on the corner. "How are you feeling?"

She blinked a few more times, her body waking up slowly. "Like I got hit by a truck. Is that for me?" She eyed the cup.

He gave her a disapproving look. "No. It's for me. If you're thirsty, I'll get you some juice."

"Juice? Forget juice, you can't bring good coffee in here and deny me. Give." Her desire to reach for the cup was strong, but the sensation of dead weight where her arm appeared to reside deterred her. Lethargy rarely won out over the prospect of caffeine, but she'd make an exception. The IV in her arm seemed to nod its approval as she adjusted her arm. Her voice dropped. "So...I take it from the IV and the gurney that I passed out?" The momentary flicker of life in her eyes disappeared and the pale, drawn countenance returned. "What's the diagnosis?"

Luka had known her long enough to see past her nonchalance. He sensed a despair there that he understood only too well. His voice was soft as he answered. "You collapsed from exhaustion. We gave you a sedative to knock you out for a few hours, and ran an IV to get your iron and electrolyte levels up." He reached down and squeezed her hand gently, a concern and compassion he rarely showed to anyone implicit in the gesture. "You aren't healthy. Your levels are pretty low, and you're dehydrated." It was a routine explanation he hated relaying to someone who knew better.

"Well...I guess it could be worse. Romano knows?" She sunk back into the pillow.

"And Weaver. You're off the schedule for the next two weeks, and you can only be back on if your levels are normal." He shook his head. "You really scared us." His dark eyes were filled with more sadness than the situation warranted.

"Sorry." She smiled wryly. "I'm not sure how this is supposed to help things, though. Being out of work is exactly what I can't afford."

"I can help you out with the financial issues. I just want you to get healthy." He silently congratulated himself on sounding so brilliantly corny.

"Luka..." She looked at him reproachfully.

"It's just a loan. You can pay me back when you're back on your feet." He stood up and checked her drip, trying, and failing, to keep the building frustration from his voice. "I can't believe Carter would just leave when you're so sick. I'm going to have some words for him when he gets back." His fists tightened, implying he would do more than just talk. Abby reached out and placed a hand over his balled fist.

"Luka, leave it. He didn't know." She sighed softly. Not that he'd have stayed if he had. He'd washed his hands clean of his failed charity experiment.

Luka shook his head and sunk into his seat. "I just don't get it. What's with him? He should've noticed. I did." He gestured in an angry, animated fashion, his brows furrowed. He could strangle Carter for not taking care of her. He had a strong urge to fly to Africa for the sole purpose of leaving Carter with a black-and-blue reminder of gentlemanly behavior. He looked up to see Abby gazing at him levelly. She tried to lean up, and he moved to help her.

"Thanks." She gave him a small, weak smile. "Look, I know you have this thing about chivalry, but I didn't want Carter taking care of me. He spent enough time trying to fix me as it was."

"You don't need fixing." Luka huffed a bit and noticed Abby raising one eyebrow as she watched him getting angry again. "Sorry, but the man frustrates me. His whole superiority complex, how you said he tried to change you all the time, the stupid act he's always putting on...he should know a good thing when he sees it." Perhaps multiple reminders would be more effective.

Abby felt a little shiver go up her spine. There was a protectiveness in his words that he'd never displayed when they were together, at least not emotionally. Physically, he'd been that way, but it was the first time she'd heard him really defend her. She couldn't help the butterflies in her stomach. "You're saying I'm a good thing?" She tried to pass it off as a joke, but a part of her needed to know if that had been his meaning. Wanted to know.

As if reading her thoughts, Luka's face became serious. He bit at his thumbnail as he spoke, almost shyly. "Yes. I mean, of course you're a good thing." He sighed. "Just because it didn't work out between us...I still care about you. I still want you to be happy." Happy with him, preferably.

She dropped her eyes to the bedsheet. "Yeah, me too. I mean, for you."

He forced a smile. "Well, I have to get back to work. Kerry put herself in charge of you, so you can't escape until she signs off." He made his way towards the doorway. "Hey, I'm off in a couple hours. I'll give you a ride home." There was no invitation in his voice, only insistence. He had dismissed her line about chivalry. He'd be damned if he was going to let her ride the El.

"Sure. Thanks." She smiled as well and leaned back into the pillows, the sedatives once again carrying her into oblivion.


	6. Odd

"Really, you don't have to walk me up." Abby made her way up the stairs, Luka following closely behind as if afraid she might fall. She couldn't help enjoying his sweet attention. It had been a long time since anyone had walked her to her door without any expectation or implications. They reached the landing, and she dug in her purse for her keys and fumbled with the lock. "It sticks sometimes," she explained to him, forgetting for a brief moment that he was fully aware of the nature of her lock. She blushed. "Sorry. Habit."

He shrugged and gave her a boyish smile. "Don't worry about it."

"Can I make you a cup of coffee?" Abby half felt as though she should offer him something more for his troubles, but coffee was the most she was capable of at the moment.

He nodded and followed her into the apartment. "Sure. Or...let me make it. Sit." He gestured to her sofa, and she shook her head.

"What did I tell you about chivalry?" She'd remind him incessantly if need be. And he'd ignore with twice the obstinacy.

Luka laughed, a rich, smooth, delicious laugh that she hadn't heard in a long time. He hadn't either. It was the first time in nearly a year that he'd laughed genuinely. Her presence allowed, even required it. He shook his head. "Just sit down, and stop being so stubborn for once."

She obliged and sunk into the sofa, leaning back against the cushions. Her whole body ached, but his presence soothed her. He'd always had that effect. She closed her eyes and was on the verge of drifting off when she heard a crashing noise and a series of Croatian expletives from the kitchen. So much for chivalry. She pulled herself off the sofa and hurried into the kitchen to see Luka picking up fragments of what had previously been her coffee pot. She bent down to help, but he waved her off.

"Don't. I've got it." She took a brush and dustpan from under the sink and waited until he'd removed the large pieces before sweeping up the remnants. He cursed again as he wiped the floor a last time with a wet sponge, and stood up. She inadvertently giggled, and he turned around with a questioning look.

"You've got to teach me some of those words one of these days." She emptied the dustpan into the garbage and returned it to its place under the sink. "They'll come in handy at work."

He grinned sheepishly. "Sorry. And sorry about your coffee pot. I'll replace it."

She waved her hand nonchalantly. "Don't worry about it. I think it was long past due, anyway." She opened the freezer door and removed a carton of coffee flavored ice cream. "I usually don't share the good stuff, but under the circumstances..." She set down the carton and took two bowls and spoons from the cupboards. "It's gourmet. Or at least the price was."

Luka waited for her to dish the ice cream into the bowls and they leaned against the counter, eating. "It's good. Better than the stuff in the grocery store." He watched the headlights from cars below cast flickering lights over her face, illuminating her soft features. The fatigue that had masked her usual glow for the past days was of no consequence in his eyes. She'd always be stunning as far as he was concerned.

She nodded. "I know. I could live off the stuff."

"Well-balanced diet, huh?" He grinned and set his empty dish in the sink, knowing any attempt to wash it would be thwarted by his hostess. She did the same, and ran a hand through her hair before making a brave attempt to stifle a yawn. Luka lightly rubbed her shoulder. "I should go. You need to rest."

She didn't object, only followed him to the door. "Hey...thanks. For today." She smiled, halfway between shy and uncomfortable. "Definitely above and beyond."

He shifted his weight from foot to foot, trying to decide if it was appropriate to hug her. Would it seem too forward? He had the feeling some days that she could intercept his thoughts and read exactly what was on his mind...which at the present would earn him a glare and a shove out the door. She answered for him, wrapping her arms tightly around him. He felt a surge of anticipation course through him as he reciprocated, trying to repress the urge to go further. As they broke apart, he gave her a nervous smile and backed out the door. "I, uh, I'll check on you tomorrow," he stammered.

She waited until the door closed before leaning back against it, letting out a breath she hadn't been aware she was holding. He was an odd person, that Luka Kovac. She shook her head and moved aimlessly through her apartment into her bed before falling into the pile of sheets and blankets and pillows and curling into them. The second her eyes closed she was asleep, but the corners of her lips curled into a smile without her needing to will them. Odd. Very odd.


	7. Mutual Distraction

... ... ... a huge thank you to Bel Vezer for being my beta reader this week and saving my sanity ... ... ... 

She rolled out of bed sometime after noon the next day and wandered through the apartment. Rest disoriented her. Caffeine and adrenaline had been her companions for so long, sleep was something foreign - or at least, decent sleep. She looked at her disaster of an apartment and sighed. No excuses. She had the time. She resigned herself to the task and pulled on a pair of shorts and a tee-shirt before sliding a CD into the player and seizing the vacuum from the closet. Dust bunnies, run for cover.

Luka stood outside her apartment, his ear to the door. Was that...? It was. She was singing. Badly. He couldn't help the grin spreading over his face as he rapped on the door. The music disappeared, and was replaced by shuffling noises. He could hear her battling with the lock on the other side of the door.

_Damn_. His eyes immediately went to her tee-shirt. White tee-shirt. No bra. _Damn_. He willed his eyes to the floor and swallowed hard. "I, uh..." He held up the bags and gave her a pitiful smile. "Care package."

She was unaware of his discomfort. "You didn't have to do that." She held open the door and ushered him in. "Sorry for the mess, I'm trying to clean."

_Put on a sweater. Please put on a sweater. _He set the bags on the table. "Uh...I brought bananas...Gatorade...greens...and, uh..." He set the items on the table as his face turned red. "Right. Tea. I bought tea."

She smiled and came towards the table, inspecting his groceries. "Thanks. That was sweet."

He gulped and nodded, unable to avoid staring once again. Still, she was oblivious. "I bought you a new coffeemaker, too." He removed the box from the paper shopping bag and set it on the table.

"I told you not to." She looked at the box. "Luka, this is a nice coffeemaker. Mine was a piece of crap. You spent too much."

He smiled painfully. "My pleasure. I wanted to."

"Well...thank you." She came towards him, and his heart pounded as she wrapped her arms around him to hug him. He could feel her body pressing into his, and he shivered involuntarily, anticipation coursing through him. As she drew back, he turned a deep crimson and cleared his throat. She gave him a questioning look. "What?"

He feigned innocence. "Nothing."

She nodded, playing along. There was something off about him, that much she could tell, but she didn't push. The last thing she needed was to turn the situation into yet another bickering match. They'd shared plenty of those in the past, long nights of tossing words across an ever-growing distance, days of avoidance and cold shoulders. Whatever was throwing him off, she'd let him keep it to himself. She looked up to see him looking sideways at her, as if trying to read her mind. She forced a tight smile and searched for something to say...anything. "So, while you're here, would you mind maybe helping me move my couch so I can vacuum under it? I'm pretty sure there's something dead under there." Two birds with one stone. Brilliant.

Luka nodded, relieved she'd changed the subject. He moved towards the couch and watched her make her way towards the opposite side, bending down as if to lift it. "Abby, there's not a chance in hell you're touching the couch. Back up."

She gave him an indignant look. "I beg your pardon?"

"You remember yesterday, when you collapsed? And the IV?" He crossed his arms and tried his best to look serious. "You're not touching the couch. Back." He waved his hand as if shooing a dog away.

She sighed and retreated, trying not to let on her appreciation. Had Carter ever spoken to her that way? Not to her recollection. He was all about reasoning with her, playing doctor. Luka didn't bother, cut right to the point. He knew her. He knew she didn't listen to reason, and he'd found ways around it. She smiled without realizing it. He was the only one she listened to, in retrospect. Why? She hadn't the slightest clue. Perhaps the European charm, perhaps the compelling gaze in his slate grey eyes, or perhaps the fact that he treated her as an equal. Even in all his chivalrous glory and his protective ways, she never felt as though he dominated. Never felt as though she wasn't enough. She watched his six-foot-plus frame struggling with the couch, obviously in the throes of machoistic instinct. She knew he'd move it if he pulled every last muscle doing it. Speaking of which...she couldn't help but notice his impeccable physique as he removed his sweater, leaving him in only a rather fitted tee shirt. She traced the lines of his arms with her eyes, unable to avoid the little jumping sensation in her stomach as he bent and lifted and strained. She felt the urge to reach out and touch his bicep, to run her hand over his arms, to feel the perspiration collecting on his skin. His shirt rode up slightly, revealing his toned stomach. Abby felt ever so slightly lightheaded all of a sudden. She silently cursed him for being so dreadfully good looking. She turned away and went to find the vacuum. _Damn the gorgeous Croat in my living room._ She willed him to become ugly by the time she returned.

Luka fell onto the couch as he set it down, panting. He couldn't subdue the sensations running through his body and mind, neither of which had anything to do with all the muscles he'd just pulled indulging his ego. He wanted her. It was a fact he'd never bothered to deny, something he'd felt even after they broke up. Perhaps moreso. He wanted to reach out and touch her skin, feel it against his own. Wanted to kiss her, press his lips to her neck, her lips, her entire body. He'd known it wouldn't work for a long time. They were each tangled in their own melodramas, her in her alcoholism and self-deprecating cycle, him in his womanizing and destructive tendencies. But now...they were talking, weren't they? More than they had when they were together, more than they ever had. It was nothing of serious substance, but it was a start. Hope. Potential. And the melodramas...hers, at least, was subsiding; she was sober, wasn't she? He tried to rationalize. They could be together. He'd give his fast life up for her. He'd give up breathing for her.

Right. Because it wouldn't be walking right into disaster, right? They wouldn't sabotage it before they started. No, of course they could fix each other. Just like last time. Right. Absolutely. They were so brilliant at working their issues out, so good at talking. Amazing communicators. Luka sighed. Rich fantasy life.

Abby reappeared with the vacuum. "Thanks. You okay?"

He nodded and scrambled to his feet. "Yeah, it was nothing." Liar. He dreaded moving the thing back again. "You going to vacuum now?"

She shrugged. "I'll do it later. Leave it. I can have someone else move it back when I'm done. Wouldn't want you to hurt yourself." _Wouldn't want to have to take a cold shower._ She winked and headed towards the kitchen. "How many muscles did you pull? That was quite a show."

"Are you making fun of me?" He chucked a dishrag at her, and she caught it, laughing. He got up and began to unpack the coffeemaker from the box. "Here, I'll set it up."

"Careful, I wouldn't want you to hurt yourself."

He pretended to be put off. "I come over here to check on you, move your couch, and this is what I get? How about a little appreciation, here?"

She rolled her eyes and perched herself on the counter as he assembled the appliance. "My hero." She couldn't help watching him. Perhaps not a hero. More like...a friend. A good friend. With whom she shared a past. She leaned her head against the cupboard. Getting in over her head was her trademark, and she was dangerously close to exactly that. Life had a way of taunting her with possibilities at exactly the wrong moments. She wondered if there was perhaps a cure for that...perhaps a drug. She'd ask Weaver. A smile crept over her face at the notion, at the reaction she'd get. Luka noticed her smiling.

"Something funny?" He cocked his head to the side, enjoying the sight of her at ease for the first time in weeks.

_If only you knew._ "If you're tired of medicine, you could always get a job as someone's manservant. You do a nice job."

Luka crossed his arms. "So now you're a comic, are you?" He did his best to give her a stern look, despite the urge to laugh.

"I was simply stating the obvious. You're very handy to have around." Was she flirting? Abby silently chastised herself. Just what she needed was to give him ideas.

A grin. "It's a Croatian thing. We're all very handy." Luka swept the bits of paper and styrofoam from the counter into the empty box. "Voila. Your coffeemaker."

"Thanks." Abby slid off the counter and moved to the refrigerator. She removed a jar of grounds and turned back to Luka. "Want to join me for the inaugural cup?"

"Sure." He watched her bustle about, filling the coffeemaker, taking out cups. He couldn't shake the feeling that there was something there, but at the same time, knew it would be a mistake to start anything when things were so chaotic for both of them._ One thing at a time._ Fine, so he'd make a start, stop sleeping around at the very least. Stop drinking himself stupid every other night. It occurred to him that his wanton ways had diminished in the past weeks, ever since they'd begun spending time together. She certainly had an affect on him, he'd give her that much. _Hell._ He'd give her damn near anything.


	8. Hurt

… … … … …much gratitude as always to my beta reader, eva… … … … …

Why had she ended up there, breathing in the bitter aroma of coffee she could barely stomach, opposite him yet again? She'd gone with the intention - intention or excuse? - of retrieving her things from her locker. He had only just entered when she'd blurted it out, extended an invitation she hadn't even been aware she'd planned, and then they'd found themselves once again under fluorescent lighting, seated on the sticky vinyl, sipping that horrid stuff.

"Heard anything from Carter?" It had come out of his mouth before he could think. He cursed himself for letting it escape.

She pursed her lips. "Yes, as a matter of fact, the embassy called. He was mauled by a lion and they wanted to know what to do with his remains."

He had to bite back the urge to laugh. "What did you tell them?"

"I told them the lion could take care of it." Her face showed no sign of amusement, only complete disdain. Luka burst out laughing, and she held out for a few split seconds before she joined him.

He shook his head. "Don't do the 'woman scorned' bit. It doesn't suit you."

"Oh?" She raised an eyebrow.

"He's not worth it."

She gazed at him levelly. "You had no complaints when I did it after we broke up." She threw the challenge at him, almost cruelly curious to hear his response.

He didn't skip a beat. "Well I was worth it." That irresistible, sly grin, dripping with flirtation. She didn't have to wonder this time if it was there, she could feel it with every fibre of her being. He'd said it lightly, but she could sense the innuendo. The last time he'd been so blatant was that night in the bar. She could hear his voice echoing, _of course, that makes it two_, his lips on hers, heart leaping into her throat just as it did then, battling with the urge to reciprocate if only to see where it went.

Her senses won out. "And gloating doesn't suit you." She forced a pointed look.

He cocked his head to the side, taken aback by the sudden change in direction. Concern washed over his face. "He hurt you." It wasn't a statement, or even a question, but an invitation.

"Yes." No point in denying it. The former amusement drained from her face, and she suddenly looked older, more tired, just as she had been a few days before. The flush in her cheeks disappeared, replaced by a tightlipped scowl. She let out a long breath she hadn't known she was holding.

Luka's hand crept across the table to rest over hers. The warmth was comforting. "I'm sorry, Abby."

They both knew the apology wasn't so much on Carter's behalf as his. He knew he'd hurt her as well, she'd hurt him, too, but he had never been able to subdue to repetitive echo in his mind of his words that evening. Whatever she'd thrown at him, however cruel it had been at the time, he'd never been able to reconcile his guilt for his stinging lie. Now he knew he was paying it back with interest. His thumb traced her palm as though her thoughts were written across it in Braille. "It never would have worked. He loved somebody that he thought I could be." She shook a stray lock of hair from her eyes. "It wasn't the breakup that hurt. It was this constant feeling, like I wasn't enough. And he knew it."

However Carter could have even considered the prospect, Luka couldn't begin to grasp. His voice was quiet, imploring her to hear his sincerity. To believe him. "You're more than enough, Abby. You always have been." The line was corny and melodramatic, but his voice was so full of conviction that it didn't matter. It wasn't a line. From anyone else, in any other situation, she would have laughed, but amid the buzz of the atrocious lighting, the clatter of food-encrusted silverware, and the chatter of worn patrons and disgruntled wait staff, she felt her throat tighten. He'd meant it. He'd meant it, and without any agenda.

Her voice cracked ever so slightly as she pursed her lips in that wry smile that captivated him. "Thanks."

He reached across, forgetting for one brief moment the flirting and the past and the future and cupped her face in his hand. The movement was instinctual, paternal, and she felt for the first time in ages that she was safe, cared for, maybe even loved. "Welcome."


	9. Midnight

_A/N – There's a bit of Yiddish in here. "Putz" is an insult that roughly translated, means "Jerk". "Groisser gornisht! Gai kaken oifen yam!" Translates to "Big good for nothing! Get lost!"_

Midnight. It was a strange sort of limbo, caught between one day and the other, between beginnings and endings, between sleep and waking. The brooding eyes searched the room for something, anything, to distract him from the uncertainty that had characterized the past days. A gleaming amber liquid winked at him from its glass decanter and he moved instinctively towards it. He raised it, hesitated, raised it again, this time to eye level. The surrounding scene was distorted through the bottle, its contents stinging his senses with the distinct scent. He squeezed his eyes shut and let out a long, arduous sigh as the item was returned from whence it came.

He knew she'd be awake, despite the strict orders for rest. Stubborn, obstinate, and nocturnal. The whining ring only sounded once before her voice filled his ear. "Home for the questionably deranged. Nurse Ratchet speaking. How may I direct your call?"

The image of her last Halloween costume flickered through his mind with genuinely indecent intention. "I'm looking for a consult. I think I might be off my rocking."

"Rocker."

"What?"

"Never mind." Her voice changed to a softer, more deliberate congeniality. "What can I do for you?"

He briefly considered the prospects. "Not much. I couldn't sleep and you're the only one I knew would be awake." It dawned on him at that moment that he could have easily called Croatia at that hour, yet somehow she had been the first, the only, thought. Her voice on the other end of the line was far more welcome than another inquisition from his father, who had become increasingly impatient for him to settle down. _If only it were that easy._ "You want to have pancakes?"

"Excuse me?" His offer was both unexpected and confusing. Perhaps he was a bit off his rocker.

A grin slid over his face. "I know a place that's open all night. I've always wanted to have pancakes in the middle of the night, but no one is ever awake. It's too sad to go alone."

The notion was intriguing. "Pancakes at midnight. That would be a first for me, too."

"May I take your pancake virginity?" His flirting was incorrigible...and intentional. He'd put aside a bottle of liquid oblivion for her. Indecency was his reward.

Her laughter was soft, twinkling. "I'd be honored. Pick me up?"

"Wouldn't dream of letting you wander alone in the dark. Some poor soul might meet you in a dark alley." Truly incorrigible.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He was surprised to find her on the front steps when he arrived, lost in a cloud of cigarette smoke. "Isn't it a little dangerous to be hanging around on the street in the middle of the night?" He lowered himself onto the cement step beside her.

"I'm not on the street. I'm on the porch." A stream of whitish smoke curled through her lips. "Besides...people around here know better than to mess with me."

Luka's eyebrows arched. "Oh?"

"They saw Brian."

So she'd known all along. He had halfway hoped as much, a little credit to his name for defending her, even if it hadn't been in the most noble of ways. Still, he reddened at the acknowledgment. "I see."

She rose from the steps and dropped the cigarette to the pavement, stubbing it out with her toe. "Come on. I have a craving for some decent food."

"Who said anything about decent?" He grinned playfully. "I just said it was open."

The banter continued for the few blocks to the diner. Luka held open the door to the dismal, fluorescent interior as she tentatively stepped in, an uncertain look on her face. "Am I going to get some rare bacterial disease from this place?"

He shrugged. "It's possible." They seated themselves at the least unpleasant looking table. Luka used a few napkins to wipe the table off and took a plastic menu from the rack on the table. She watched with dismay as he flipped the sticky pages with more earnest than the selection deserved. He caught her watching, a look of mixed fear and disgust creeping over her countenance. "Something wrong?"

"I'm just a little put off by the fact that every visible surface is filthy." She cleared her throat. "You seriously like this place?"

He nodded. "I have breakfast here a lot. It's not as bad as it seems." He glanced up at her distrusting expression. "Really. The food isn't bad at all, and the coffee's all right. Better than Ike's."

She relented. "If you say so."

An older woman, probably in her sixties, approached. "Dr. Kovac. I see you have brought us another mouth to feed. She is better than last one, no?" Her accent was thick, but friendly. Polish, perhaps, or Ukrainian.

Luka cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Yes, much better." He avoided eye contact with Abby, who looked on with an amused smile. "Besides, they never liked this place. Something about salmonella."

The woman swatted his arm with a notepad. "Stop with that. You scare away my customers."

"What customers?" Luka gestured to the empty room. "I'm the only one brave enough to eat your poison, Ada."

The woman made a spitting gesture to the side. "_Putz. _You want food, or should I have you thrown out again?"

Luka laughed. "We'll both have pancakes. And bring her a vat of coffee, would you? No spit." He winked at Abby.

Ada made a waving gesture and retreated towards the kitchen doors. "I only spit in your food, _groisser gornisht! Gai kaken oifen yam!_" She gave a little snort before disappearing behind the swinging doors.

"What was that all about?" Abby rested her chin on her hand.

He shrugged. "Who knows? Half the time she curses me in Ukrainian, half the time Yiddish. I don't bother to learn anymore." His grey eyes twinkled. "She's a nice old bat. She likes you."

She let out a little laugh. "How could you tell?"

"She promised not to spit in your food." She looked at him, aware for the first time of the ease that was evident in their relationship. She'd missed it terribly, the friendship, over the course of her relationship with Carter. If it even was a relationship...more like a catastrophe. The attraction to him that had been forming over the past weeks was disconcerting, frightening. She didn't want to lose him again. As if aware of her internal conflict, he reached out to rest a hand on her shoulder. She came out of her daze with a small smile, which he returned with interest. "Everything okay?"

A nod. "Yeah." She sighed, and stretched her arms over her head. The repetition was more genuine. "Yeah."


	10. You

Lines creased her forehead as she frowned, hands splayed palms-down on the admit desk. "Look, I'll get my labs done after my shift. Just put me back on the schedule."

Romano rolled his eyes and used his good hand to scrawl her name on the board. "Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn about your labs, so long as you don't cause me a lawsuit. Weaver may like her employees healthy, but this is my ER, and I like my employees cheap, efficient, and out of my way." He rifled through a stack of charts. "Tell you what, Nurse Barbie, why don't you start off easy. There's a fantastic code brown with your name on it in exam three." He tossed a box of latex gloves at her with a sneer.

"Gee, thanks." She waited until he'd turned his back and made a rude gesture in his direction before slamming the box back on the counter with unnecessary force. Romano never failed to make her job as unpleasant as possible.

It was dusk by the time she escaped to the lounge to collect her things. Her pulse quickened slightly at the sight of Luka, back to her, sliding a scrub top off. She watched out of the corner of her eye, thoughts of running her hands over his torso, his bronzed skin, tousling the thick, downy soft black hair that was left in a state of endearing disarray as he tossed aside the green top that so pleasantly complimented his eyes. She blushed as he turned around and quickly cast her eyes down as if inspecting her shoes.

"Hey. How was the first day back?" He took a white tee shirt from his locker and unfolded it, leaving his toned stomach extremely visible as she looked up at him.

Her eyes were drawn to the sculpted physique on display. "Uh…fine. Not bad." She cleared her throat, flustered, and turned to take her bag from her locker.

The shirt hid his body once again, much to her relief. "It's snowing out." His comment hung in the air for a moment as he pulled a sweater over his head, and then the hidden agenda. "I was thinking of taking a walk through the park. Care to join me?"

Her heart skipped a beat. "Yeah. Sure." She cursed her lack of evident enthusiasm, but it was a fine line she was walking. "That would be nice." Despite herself, she moved towards him and reached up to smooth his hair down. "Sorry. It was messy." Her hand lingered a moment longer than it should have.

"Don't be sorry." He loved the feeling of her fingers raking though his hair. He had an overwhelming desire to kiss her hand, but fought it. _Not here. Not now._ He waited for her to gather her things into her bag and pull on her jacket. Without asking, he took the small duffel from her shoulder and hung it on his. She moved to object, but he shushed her. "Let me have my pride."

She laughed softly. "Fine. Thank you."

His hand rested on the small of her back as they headed towards the doors together, oblivious to the knowing looks of their coworkers. The snow fell lightly as they made their way though the ambulance bay and ambled, unhurried, towards the park. Snowflakes dusted her hair, providing him every so often with an excuse to brush a gloved hand over her head. The gap between them narrowed unconsciously, slowly, until her shoulder barely touched his chest, his hand drifting instinctively to rest on her back again. They appeared as any couple would, comfortable, content, in love. Was it love? The thought had crossed both minds recently with differing degrees of certainty. He knew. A few weeks ago, he'd felt something, but it was blatantly clear to him by now that it was a very specific something, and he'd felt it in this intensity only once before, many years ago, when he first met Danijela. Prospects, hope, desire for more, all tied into this new and thrilling place they'd found themselves. He'd loved her before, but there was a quality now that was distinct. This time it was with his whole self, without reservation.

Her reservations clouded the issue. It had nothing to do with whether she loved him, deep in her heart she knew without a doubt she did. It was the possibility of losing him again, of being hurt. And a deep-seeded knowledge that this was it. They wouldn't survive another disaster and come out friends, as they'd been able to before. The balance between losing him altogether and her ever-intensifying feelings for him was devastating, even moreso as the thing in the back of her mind – the certainty that their friendship wouldn't survive if they continued like this – nagged at her.

The partially frozen river came into view, and Luka took her hand without thinking, pulling her towards the snowy bank. A surge of electricity moved up her arm, across her body, sending a shiver through her body. He felt it, and turned. "Cold?"

She nodded. "Kind of, but it's nice out here. I'll be fine."

Wordlessly, he pulled her close, rubbing his gloved hands up and down her arms and back. The feeling of one another so close was mutually terrifying. Both pulses quickened, and he fumbled for words. "Any better?" He was surprised to have formed a coherent question.

She nodded. "Thanks."

"Anytime." He caught the double entendre, the Freudian slip, but didn't take it back.

The snow swirling around, the cold air reddening their cheeks, the proximity to one another, the days and weeks of increasingly shameless flirting…the question finally slipped out of her mouth. "What are we doing, Luka?"

He looked at her, brown eyes filled with confusion and desperation for an answer. "I don't know."

"Luka." She pleaded with him.

"What do you want to be doing?" His voice was soft, gentle, afraid to push her, but she needed him to define it for her, to make the first move.

She hugged her arms around herself, half for warmth, half out of fear. "What do you want?"

He watched the snowflakes swirl downward, landing on her eyelashes, her nose, her cheeks. All the life, all the vibrancy that had disappeared from her face had returned, the sparkling light in her eyes once again apparent, the beautiful, spectacular woman he'd missed desperately suddenly in front of him, offering a second chance. He let his hand rest behind her head as he moved closer, touching his lips to hers in a kiss that made her legs give out under her, letting him support her. She remembered...how he would barely make contact at first, simply graze her mouth as their breaths intermingled, and then the space would close and she'd become oblivious to the outside world. His hand traveled across her cheek and slid under her chin, pulling her into the kiss. He poured the word into her mouth.

"You."


	11. Second Chance

They had nowhere else to go. The sheets swallowed them whole as he fumbled with clothing, _damn clothing_, and he suddenly resented the societal demands for garments. They were awfully inconvenient. She was exactly how he remembered and unexpected at once. The other women had been nothing more than an attempt to forget, but this, this was as though she managed to reach a place in his soul that no one else knew about and fix whatever had been broken with only the feeling of her skin on his. He repeated her name over and over, not out of passion, but out of sheer fear that he was imagining it all. "Abby." And finally she answered. "Luka." Her eyes were brimming with terror and chaos and uncertainty but she clung to him, kissed him, moved with him with such conviction that he knew. He drank her in like a man who hadn't had a sip of water in years, emotion evident in his every movement, and she knew it was different this time, this had a purpose and an electricity and a possibility. Everything around them dissolved into nothingness as she lost herself in the scent of his hair, the gentle warmth of his skin, the inexplicable sensation of kissing him and she swore it tasted like honeysuckle plucked from amid the leaves on a summer evening.

He held her close against him afterwards, his hands tangling through her hair, his chin resting in the crease of her neck and shoulder. She felt his lips on her neck, barely even a kiss, but enough for her to know. He'd asked her once, lying together, what they'd done. She hadn't understood the question, told him as much, and he'd asked again. Had they had sex or made love? She'd been silent, too conflicted to speak, too unsure of herself to even be sure of him, of them. Now she rolled back to face him. Her voice was barely audible. "What did we just do?"

His words were barely more than breaths on her skin. "We made love."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She woke to find his arms wrapped around her, eyes dancing with a life she hadn't seen in him in months, a lazy smile on his face as his head rested on the pillow inches from her face. He moved one hand from her waist to brush her hair back from her face. "I missed watching you sleep."

An inadvertent smile crept over her face. "How long have you been watching me?"

"Maybe an hour. I don't know." He kissed her lightly, leaving her lips craving more. "You're beautiful when you sleep."

God, he made it hard for her. Fear tugged at her, screamed at her that what they'd just done wasn't worth the risk, but the feeling of lying there with him was overwhelming. It was the first time she'd felt so good in months. Honesty was the most uncomfortable feeling she knew, the thing that scared the life out of her, but in that moment, losing him seemed imminent unless she could put aside her fears. Losing him was the biggest fear of all. She let out a long, shaking sigh and moved to rest her head on his bare chest. "Luka." Her voice was barely audible.

"Mmhmm." His fingers laced through her hair, gently running his hand through her hair, savoring the silky feeling. All of what he'd done over the past year, all of the destructive acts and mindless cavorting had melted away from his consciousness. The ghosts of his past didn't haunt him this morning, as they had every morning for as long as he could recall. She was all he saw, all he wanted. _You don't know what you've got until it's gone._

She could feel his warmth, his authenticity, but doubt was as habitual reflex that she hadn't yet managed to curb. He pulled her closer, pressing his lips to her forehead. There was an assurance in the act, she could feel it, feel that he wanted to be there with her. The voices in her subconscious abated. "Nothing. I missed waking up with you."

He could hear the waver in her voice. Fear of intimacy had driven them apart before, and the prospect of it damaging this second chance made him bold. "Tell me what you're thinking." His voice was gentle, not demanding she tell him, only offering.

"I don't want to mess things up this time, Luka." She rolled to look him in the eye. "I don't want to take the chance of losing you as a friend unless this can work." It was the most honest thing she'd said in so long as she could remember. She was surprised at herself, but then, she was surprised at how strongly she felt about everything that had happened over the past weeks.

His thumb rubbed over her bottom lip in an action so seemingly simple, yet intense. "We'll make it work."

She nodded slightly and let her head drop back to his chest. She'd take him at his word.


	12. Discretion

She was pouring a cup of slightly-rancid coffee from the lounge coffeemaker when she heard the door swing open, followed by soft footsteps. She didn't have to turn around, simply waited for the inevitable feeling of his hands resting on her waist. She blushed as he placed a kiss on her shoulder. "Luka..." She wasn't ready to make their relationship public, and told him as much that morning as his mouth had mercilessly attacked her neck on the El that morning. He was incorrigible, granted, he'd waited for the chance for many months.

"I can't help it. I missed you, Abby." He rested his chin on the crown of her head.

She stirred her coffee, ignoring his overt affection. "Luka, I don't really want to be the gossip of the ER right now. I just got back, slow down a little." She nudged him back.

Dejected, he sat down at the table, leaning back so as to rest his heels on the opposite seat. "Since when are you worried about what people think?" He caught her wrist as she passed him, swinging her around to face him.

"Since I need to be a little more professional around here." She sighed and sat at the chair next to him. "I've been kind of superstitious about telling anyone, but I'm back in med school. I'm starting a surgical rotation next week."

A smile came over his face. "Good for you." He wanted to say more, to smother her in congratulatory kisses, but he refrained, afraid to overreact. When they were first together, he'd pushed her, and she'd responded by questioning if being a nurse were perhaps not good enough for him. "You'll make a good doctor."

She stirred her coffee absent-mindedly. "Well, I didn't exactly plan on _this_ happening when I made the decision." She indicated the two of them. "I don't know how much time we'll get to spend together over the next few weeks." Weeks was as much as she could forecast just then. Months seemed an ominous word.

"Maybe you and I could start a study group." His eyes twinkled. "You could study medicine, and I could study you. Even do some research, maybe."

A small laugh softened her face. "We'll see." She took a sip of the lukewarm liquid and grimaced. "I have to go. Behave yourself." She stood and tousled his hair. He grabbed her hand and pulled her forward into a kiss. She drew back, unable to suppress a smile.

"Abby." She turned to face him, arms crossed. His face was serious. "If you want to keep it to ourselves right now, I'll respect that. Just know that people around here will talk no matter what, and I'd rather they at least have the story right."

She nodded. "I know. Just for now, okay?"

"Sure." He watched her leave, her petite frame unusually complimented by the scrubs she wore. She was the only one he'd ever known to look good in the stiff, shapeless cotton that hugged her perfectly. Luka stood and gathered a few charts he'd been finishing and downed her half-finished cup of instant coffee. The lingering scent of mint lip balm mixed with the bland coffee in a surprisingly pleasant way. He had the urge to run laps around the hospital, brimming with energy and exuberance from the knowledge that she was once again in his life. For so long, he'd felt nothing, felt empty. Now the void in his life had vanished, replaced by an overwhelming feeling of giddy infatuation. Was it love? Something inside him longed to declare it was, but it was too soon, he knew. She wasn't ready yet, and he'd have to let it lie dormant for the time being. The knowledge that it was there was enough.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He waited for her by the El after his shift, knowing she'd be roped into some procedure or another that required her to stay late. It wasn't long before she approached, face bright as soon as she saw him leaning against the stairwell. "Hi, stranger."

His senses told him he'd have to play cool until they were out of sight from the hospital and the lurking spies. Once settled on the El, she leaned into him, allowing his hand to slide around her waist. The soft kiss on her neck made her blush. They rode in silence, enjoying the proximity, not realizing until they drew close to her stop that they hadn't clarified the destination. He brushed her hair from her face. "Working tomorrow?"

She shook her head. "You?"

"No. We should have a sleepover, don't you think?"

"I need clothes. I can grab some things and meet you at your place." She gathered her things to get off the train, and he pulled her back. She gave him an inquisitive look.

The devilish grin made her melt. "Who said anything about clothes?" He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her onto his lap as she laughed, a sound he'd desperately missed. "I've got a few things of yours hidden away, anyway."

Her eyebrows arched. "How indecent of you. Should I be concerned about dating a pervert?"

"Only if I should be concerned about dating someone who leaves sexy underwear lying around."


	13. Valentine

_Happy Valentine's Day, my darling readers. Devoid of my own Valentine, I decided to live vicariously through Luby...enjoy. As always, thank you to Eva for beta-reading and saving you all from a rotton Valentine's disaster. _

It stunned him how much things had changed in only a few short weeks...how much he had changed. He'd been at a new low, sleeping with nameless women, drinking himself sick, caught up in bar fights and god-knows-what. And suddenly, it had all been turned upside down. He'd given her that power, given her the right to make him..._what was it called?_ Weak in the knees. Weak all over.

He'd never actually been with a woman for Valentine's Day. The year they'd been together, they'd been fighting that particular day, and he'd lost his opportunity. The newfound giddy state of mind left him reeling with excitement at the thought of his opportunity. The grin on his face never faded as he planned, plotted, prepared for it. The morning of the fourteenth found them tangled together in a thick down quilt in his bed, her body curled into him for warmth in the biting February cold.

"It's Valentine's Day." He kissed her forehead gently and tried to nudge her awake. She made a whining noise and buried her face in his chest, pulling the blankets more tightly around them. He tried again. "Wake up. It's Valentine's Day."

She scrunched her face up and mumbled into his body. "Stupid holiday. Too commercial."

He chuckled softly and began to run his hands up and down her body to warm her. "Maybe so, but I've never had a Valentine, so humor me. Come on." He could smell her hair, a combination of shampoo and perfume, as he kissed her forehead again. "I planned you a surprise."

"I don't like surprises." Her hands slid around his chest and she hugged her body to him.

"You'll like this, I promise." He rolled onto his back so that she lay on top of him, and managed to pick her up as he struggled out of bed. She protested, face sour, mumbling empty threats, as he carried her blankets and all to the kitchen and set her in a chair. "Stay there. I'm making you breakfast."

She scowled and wrapped the blankets all around her as her head rested on the table. "Why can't you make me breakfast in bed? The bed was warm."

He tapped the button on the thermostat and the heating vents groaned to life. "Because I know you'd just go back to sleep. I want to spoil you, am I not allowed to do that?"

"Spoil me when I've slept more." She wearily got to her feet and shuffled over to the refrigerator to produce a carton of orange juice, which she opened and began swigging straight from the carton. "Besides, what's the big deal about Valentine's Day? It's a Hallmark holiday."

"I told you." He began to assemble ingredients for pancakes on the countertop and removed a pan from a cabinet. "I've never had a Valentine. It wasn't a big deal in Croatia when I was growing up, and by the time it was popular...I don't know. We never celebrated it." He shrugged and cracked an egg, then another, into a glass bowl. "Just let me have my fun."

She muttered sleepily and returned to the table, doing her best to suppress the beginnings of a smile. Her eyes followed him as he hurried about, preparing breakfast, starting the coffee, setting out plates. Being lavished with attention was not something she was used to, nor comfortable with, and yet she couldn't help the deep blush creeping over her cheeks every time he looked at her. Such affection in that look. Such sincerity. Such...love. She sighed and rested her chin on her hand. Nothing was ever easy.

"For you." He set a plate in front of her, two freshly made blueberry pancakes with butter and syrup neatly arranged with sliced strawberries.

She swallowed hard and forced a smile. "Thanks."

He sat opposite her with his own plate, inserting large forkfuls one after another into his mouth. He hardly noticed her pushing the food around her plate, lost in thought. "Coffee?" He switched off the percolator and took out two mugs.

"Not yet." A look of uneasiness came over her. "Leave my mug there, I'll get some in a few minutes."

He nodded and sat down again, brow furrowed. "Something wrong?" His hand closed over hers, squeezing lightly.

"No. Just tired, I'll be fine once I'm more awake." She stifled a yawn, proving her point. "Somebody dragged me out of bed this morning."

A small, wrapped box was produced from somewhere inside his robe pocket. "Maybe this will wake you up." He set it down in front of her. "Happy Valentine's Day."

"You didn't have to do that." She gave him an admonishing look.

He smiled. "Sure I did. I told you, you're my first Valentine. Open it."

She sighed, a little smile twitching on her lips, and began to remove the wrapping. "Luka." The blush deepened as she took a small snow globe from the box. The glass dome sparkled with tiny, iridescent snowflakes, a porcelain red rose in full bloom within the sphere.

"I know it's not much, but..." he smiled, almost embarrassed by the sentiment, "it was snowing that night we kissed." He reached across the table to brush a strand of hair from her face. "I thought we could put it with the other one. Maybe start a collection." His eyes were full of promise, full of hope. She'd never seen him like this before, so overtly affectionate, and to be honest, it scared her. He seemed so sure.

"Luka." She got to her feet and dragged the quilt around the table with her to half-fall, half- sit on his lap. Her lips brushed over his, eyes closed, then leaned her forehead against his. "It's beautiful. Thank you."

His arms snaked around her waist. "You're beautiful."

The color in her cheeks matched the rose now. She let out a soft giggle. "When did you get to be such a romantic?"

He was quiet for a few moments, stroking her hair, winding it through his fingers. "Something in the water, I guess." He smiled. "Come on, put on some warm clothes. I'm taking you out."

"Out? Luka, it's seventeen degrees. There's half a foot of snow on the ground."

"Well then you'd better wear a hat."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The ride was an hour long, and she slept soundly, wrapped in layers of clothing, heat on full blast, soft music playing as he drove. He didn't mind. The less she knew, the better. One hand rested on her knee as he drove the icy road to the beach, snow falling lightly on the windshield. He prodded her awake as he parked, the lone vehicle in the white-covered lot. She yawned and rubbed the sleep from her eyes, blinking as she took in the surroundings.

"Luka...are you aware that beach season is over?"

He grinned and pulled a hat and scarf from the back seat. "Where's your sense of adventure?"

They donned fleece and wool and struggled out into the biting cold, an old quilt he'd tucked in the back seat wrapped around them both. Her body pressed into him, his arm protectively around her, holding her tightly. They walked along the snowy, frozen beach, snow sprinkling their hair and clothing, admiring the scenery.

She finally broke the easy silence, her tone cautious. "Look...it's not that I don't appreciate all this, I just..." She bit her lip nervously, frown lines forming on her face. "We've only been together a few weeks. You're sort of scaring me, Luka."

He stopped, turned to face her, placed a finger under her chin to even their gaze. "I'm sort of scaring me, too." He leaned down to touch his lips to hers in a sort of kiss that left her unaware of everything that had been on her mind, of the churning in her stomach, of the stinging cold. He drew back, smiling. "A good sort of scary."

She couldn't stop her lips from curling into a smile, head dropping to hide that terribly recurrent blush. "Yeah. A good sort of scary."


	14. Upheaval

Three spectacular weeks, and now this. The end of giddy affection, easy conversations, wild lovemaking, early-morning banter. Catharsis. Implosion. She held her head in her hands and let a few hot tears spill down her cheeks and fall to the linoleum of her bathroom floor with a splatter. As if it wasn't bad enough. She didn't even know whom to tell first…fabulous. She felt incomprehensibly dirty. She pulled another Kleenex from the box behind the toilet and dabbed at her now-smeared mascara making it's way steadily from her lashes to run through the crevasses of the bags under her eyes. Defiantly, she seized another strip from the container and tried again. She set it on the counter, tapped her toes, bit her thumbnail, checked again. Six for six. The numbers didn't lie.

The sound of his spare key grinding in the lock did little to comfort her. Instead, a wave of violent nausea washed over her, bringing her to her knees on the floor, beads of cold sweat dotting her temples. The room spun, tilted, turned dark then blindingly bright as acid crawled up her throat, begging to be set free. She relented, lurched forward, ready and willing to give up the entire contents of her stomach, but nothing came. There was nothing left but bile and dry heaves. The door creaked open and suddenly, in all her disheveled splendor, she was exposed. There had been neither time nor energy to try and hide the evidence. His dark, worried eyes landed on the used HCG strips scattered on the counter, the color ominously indicative, and then to the huddled figure on the cold floor. Wordlessly, he knelt down. She couldn't meet his eye, the mix of panic and fatigue too overwhelming. His hand made slow circles on her back as he leaned against the wall and let her head rest on his shoulder. His accent tinged the soft words, letting on the uncertainty he'd done so well masking. "You're pregnant?"

She nodded, lips tight, tears threatening to spill over once again. "Looks like it."

He didn't bother with the obvious question, not yet. Instead he folded her into his arms, the warmth and comfort of his body offering respite from the unwelcome development that suddenly threatened to topple their carefully constructed surreality. It was nearly an hour until she spoke, the silence hanging in the air along with the sour smell of everything she'd eaten for two days, though neither had the presence of mind to notice. He'd been waiting for her to speak first, distrusting his own voice. "I know what you're thinking." The tear that had been nagging at her eyelash finally slid down to leave a dark spot on Luka's shirt.

"I don't think you do." It wasn't an argument, but a reassurance. It had crossed his mind, the question she'd been referring to, but he honestly hadn't been bothered with it for more than a few moments.

She drew in a pained, shuddering breath. "I don't know if it's his or yours." Her voice cracked slightly with the admission. "There. I said it." She dragged her sleeve across her face. A wry sort of scoff escaped her, and he could feel her body tense. She made a half-attempt to disentagle herself from him, shoulders slouched, not meeting his eye.

He drew her back to him without struggle and began to play with one of the long, glossy strands of hair that had escaped her ponytail. "I was thinking that if you want to have the baby, I'd like us to move in together to raise it." The corners of his mouth twitched. "And I thought we could make my study into a nursery."

"Luka." She squeezed her eyes shut, as though she could shut out reality. "You don't want to know –"

"I'll love it either way." He kissed her forehead a second time. "If you want to have the baby, that is." He knew better than to pressure her, even hypothesize. Dangerous territory had come, gone, and faded into the distance. He was in an altogether unfamiliar place, but his senses told him not to push. "You know I'll be the father no matter what."

The certainty in his voice threatened to push her over the edge into hormonal oblivion. She swallowed hard. "I don't know. I need some time." He nodded, understanding. She sunk into him, exhausted, weak. It was a matter of minutes before she fell asleep, dreaming of little bits of paper floating around, flickering pink and blue and polka dotted.


	15. Right and Wrong

_Eternal gratefulness to my loyal beta-reader, despite the complete evil that is instant messenger and a few mildly heated debates. I'm still waiting for my email, Eva._

Her eyes opened slowly, focusing in and out, trying to place where she was and how she'd gotten there. The large frame beside her shifted, turned, and then a pair of deep grey eyes met hers, concern evident despite his best efforts. "Hey. How are you feeling?"

She moaned a little, more from disoriented fatigue than anything. "Better." She squirmed around, pulling the blankets tight around her. "You carried me in here?"

"Yeah. You fell asleep." His fingers brushed through her hair, letting the silky ringlets trickle through his fingers like water. He studied her, pale, a bit tired, certainly, but stunning. Words were too complicated then, they both understood the danger of uttering the wrong thing, of offending. He slid down to lie next to her, letting one arm rest over her waist, subconsciously protective of the being within. His child. No matter what, he was the father, that much he was sure of. Of that, and of her. She moved into him and rested her head in the crook of his arm, allowing herself for the first time in many years to be cared for, if only for that moment. The response was instinctive, a soft kiss to her temple, his hand sweeping gently over her cheek. She sighed softly, a faraway look in her mocha eyes. "Abby?"

She blinked, still off in some distant space within her mind. "Hmm?"

"Want to tell me what you're thinking about?" It was the best he could do insofar as subtlety was concerned.

She moved in closer, hands sliding around him to clutch at his shirt almost fearfully. "I was thinking that my period wasn't very heavy last month." He could feel her fighting back tears, her whole body tense. "But I don't know...maybe it was spotting, maybe it wasn't. I can't really remember how many days it was." Her lip was becoming raw from chewing on it, tongue flicking over the edge of her teeth to skim the torn skin every now and then.

As long as he'd known her, she'd always had a habit of dissecting problems, laying them out in their formulaic pieces and examining them until she could construct an answer. He'd respected it, assumed it was simply her way of coping. All at once, it became apparent. Medicine was her hiding place, the one thing she could count on as a constant. It was her fallback to emotion. His hold on her loosened, and he rolled to look her dead-on. "Does it matter?" She looked at him, perplexed. "I already told you it doesn't make a difference to me. I'll love it either way." The words begged to escape, but he swallowed them down, afraid of her reaction.

She covered her face with her hands, dragging her fingertips down over her eyes, cheeks, mouth. "To me, yes, it matters." She got to her feet suddenly and headed towards the bathroom. "I need something...I need some Tylenol. I'll be right back."

He knew it wouldn't solve anything, but argument was pointless. A long breath he hadn't been aware he was holding escaped, and he let himself fall back against the pillows. The sound of running water and items being shifted in the cabinets confirmed what she'd told him. Honestly, a part of him wondered if he should follow her, be sure she wouldn't bolt from the apartment, drink some godawful substance under the sink, whatever horrific things he could think of. She scared the hell out of him with her intensity some days, perpetuated by the intensity of what he felt for her. Loving her was a wholly terrifying experience.

Her soft weight on the bed next to him was a relief. He turned to see her sitting gingerly on the edge of the mattress, biting at her thumbnail. A look of consternation clouded her features, and he reached out to touch her arm. She turned to him. "I need to know, not just for myself. I think it's really noble and all that you want to be the father no matter what, but we have to be realistic. It's not just about us, it's a legal and a medical thing. You know that."

He could quite meet her eye. "I do. I know that." He reached out a hand to place gently over hers, trying to fight back the resentment that he couldn't help feeling. God, but he wanted to be the father. He wanted to have a baby with her, without the prospect of Carter hovering around them. "So...that means you want it?" It slipped out before he could stop it.

Her gaze became distant, lost. "Luka...there's something you have to understand." She could see his mouth open to speak, but she shook her head. "Just listen. When I was with Richard, I had an abortion." She moved to a cross-legged position, facing him. "I found out I was pregnant, and I knew, I just _knew_, it was the wrong thing." There was a vacancy in her eyes that he'd seen only once before, when she'd told him about her mother. "Not just the timing, or even the whole issue of the disease, even, just...all of it. It just wasn't right."

"And now?" His voice was barely more than a low hum, a reverberation of his mind.

Long strands of chestnut hair fell over her face as she dropped her head to gaze at the mattress. "I don't know. I don't know if it's the right thing now, either."

He reached up and pulled her hand away from her mouth, causing her in the process to drop her gaze to him. "Abby." His fingers grazed her cheek. "You know how I feel about this. I want us to have this baby. Anything else would be a lie."

She sighed softly. "Luka -"

"There's no easy answer for anything. But whatever challenges there are, we'll face it when the time comes. Both of us." He placed a hand on the side of her face, and she leaned into his palm, instinctively. "Together."

"I need more time, Luka. I need to think about this."

He simply nodded, lay back, allowed her to curl into him once again. As much as a risk he knew it would be, it was impossible to resist letting his hand drift to her stomach, gently resting over where he knew the thing inside - the cluster of cells, the zygote, the baby, the person, whatever it was - resided. He loved it, he couldn't not love it. It was of her, of him, something he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt was theirs, their own creation. It was a shock to him, the feeling of her hand over his, over her stomach, and he loved it. His voice was a whisper in her ear, though he didn't know if she could understand or even hear it. "Volim te."


	16. Couldn't, Wouldn't, Shouldn't

She couldn't stop the perpetual replay of the morning. His eyes, imploring her, filled with hurt and stinging memories, begging her not to go. He'd grabbed onto her hand, pleaded with her. _You don't have to be afraid of this._ His words stung more than he knew. Fear had gripped her, paralyzed her, for days, rolling the decision around in her mind. It had been, ultimately, her decision, he'd been right about that much. He wanted to go with her, be with her through it, but she'd refused. Told him she needed to go alone. The look he'd given her as she'd left that morning was heart wrenching. He'd already lost two children. She was taking away a third, forcing him to relive it all. The guilt had nearly caused her to turn back, but she knew guilt wasn't enough of a reason to bring a child into the world. There was too much at stake, for her, for him, for the child.

The walls were white, plain, sterile, emotionless white. No texture, no paper motif, just white all around. A lone picture hung on the wall in a chintzy gold-painted frame, a print of an all-too-cheery pink flower, surrounded by greyed-out leaves. Hideous. Absolutely hideous. The industrial countertop gleamed, probably freshly disinfected. Glass jars of cotton swabs, bandages, the usual paraphernalia, sat atop the surface along with wretched-smelling bottles of iodine, alcohol, peroxide, all neatly organized in rows along the wall. The stench was overwhelming, and yet, familiar. A cold draft came from the sputtering fan in the corner, blowing stale air around the room, rustling the pamphlets stacked on a side table. Urinary tract infections…sexually transmitted diseases…gestational diabetes…ovarian cancer…all seriously uplifting stuff. It was a wonder there were any left. Paper crinkled as she shifted on the examination table, more like a mortuary slab than a bed. The whole notion was completely counterintuitive. Why come to a doctor's office to be treated like a cadaver, dissected, prodded, in a wholly unwelcoming atmosphere, complete with white-clad ghosts? The sign on the cabinet was laughable. "Hate-free environment." She'd hate it all she wanted, thanks very much. Footsteps echoed on the faded green tile outside, approaching, then fading, approaching, fading, over and over. Maddening. The pile of children's books in the corner was less than appealing, their grimy covers and dog-eared, sticky pages unpleasant enough, let alone the subject matter. Somehow she felt talking puppies and adventurous kittens were inappropriate reading material, given her age. She sighed and lay back to stare at the ceiling. The bumpy plaster looked like petrified cottage cheese, making her stomach churn more than it already was. She imagined gluing chunks of fossilized pineapple and cherries to it, maybe a giant spoon. It would be an improvement over the current dismal state. At least good for a laugh. She closed her eyes, the beginnings of a tear clawing its way out. If there were a hell, this would certainly be it.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He found her on a bench by the river, not far from where they'd kissed that night in the snow. The walk there had found him lost in thought, memories flooding his mind. He remembered one night in a different lifetime when they'd sprawled on the floor of her apartment, resting up against the couch, eating ice cream right from the carton. They'd passed it back and forth, taking turns with the rich flavor, the act of sharing a single spoon as if kissing with every mouthful. She'd scraped the last remnants from the carton and he'd looked over to see the precious remains disappear into the abyss of her mouth. He'd protested, called her names, and she'd grinned with a mouthful of melting chocolate, taunting him. He'd leaned across, impulsive in his mischief, and moved his mouth to cover hers. They'd laughed at the idiocy of it as they shared the last bite, his tongue tasting her mouth long after the sweetness of the dessert disappeared. He could still remember her hysterical giggles as they collapsed onto the floor, intermittently passionate and ridiculous. Eventually he'd had to give her space to catch her breath as tears streamed down her face, staining her reddened cheeks with salty streaks. They'd stayed like that, together, staring up at the ceiling and laughing until he'd presented the wild notion of making a fort. In her adolescent, sugar-induced state, she'd emphatically agreed, seizing the cushions from the sofa and beginning to stack them. They'd ravaged her apartment for supplies, turning it into the sort of scene only apparent in the aftermath of a flood. The heaping mess of chairs and pillows and sheets had been novel in a way neither had planned, and they'd made love in their private hideaway through the night, until the walls of their constructed fantasy caved in around them. He'd held her, buried under the rubble of their escapade, perfectly content to never move again, suspended together in a fossilized fantasy world. Now the fantasy world was shattered, replaced by the harsh reality of winter and of decisions. He didn't blame her, didn't resent her, only mourned the loss of what could have been. What they could have shared.

She looked so small on the wooden bench, huddled in her coat, gazing off at nothing in particular. He approached, fighting the tears that only came in moments like this, when emptiness gnawed at him, when the risk of losing everything was so imminent. "Hi." His voice was hardly audible, threatening to crack and let loose the flood of emotion. "I thought I'd find you here."

Her face was pale, eyes glassy. No words came, only a silent plea for comfort. He moved closer, stood, arms crossed tightly around him as their gazes met, equally vacant.

"I don't want everything we have to come down to this. I don't want to let this define who we are." His throat was tight. "I don't want to lose you, Abby."

She shut her eyes for a moment, breathed in the bitter cold. When she looked back at him, he could see insurmountable fear. "I couldn't do it. I couldn't have the abortion." He felt suddenly numb, cold. Shock swept over him. "I want to have this baby. You and me."

It took a moment for his limbs to regain function. He sunk onto the bench next to her, slid one hand over hers, leaned into her. "You and me," he repeated. She nodded, though it wasn't necessary. He felt her move closer, huddling against him, shaking slightly from the cold and from the magnitude of the decision. He wrapped his arm around her waist to hold her close, and let his head drop to rest on hers. "What made you change your mind?"

A faint sigh escaped her, and he could see a lone tear slide down her cheek. "You were right. You're not him." She buried her face in his coat, a vain attempt to suppress the salty streaks now more evident, running down her face onto the wool of his lapel.

"We're having a baby." His voice was low, full of wonderment. It was all he'd wanted, to be with her, to have a family with her. He'd wanted just that, all along, every second since the first time she kissed him, he'd felt it somewhere. "You and me and a baby." A placid grin formed on his face, as though he'd taken a handful of Percoset. Lucid. Silly. Delirious. He couldn't help himself from allowing his lips to press over hers, unable to control a chuckle from escaping. "A baby."


	17. Admissions

They walked hand in hand through the cold, neither speaking, lost in thought over the magnanimous new twist in their lives. Without so much as a word of discussion, they headed towards his apartment. She hid a smiled behind her coat lapel as he placed a hand on her back, walking just behind her up the stairs in a small protective act. He closed the door and helped her remove her coat, then his own, and she moved instinctively into his arms, head on his chest. He made slow circles with his hands on her back and pressed a kiss to her soft hair, content for the first time after a week of tumult, of uncertainty, of reminiscence. He felt her give a heaving sigh before pulling back to look up at him. "We need to talk."

He nodded and led her to the couch, where he leaned against one end and allowed her to lay between his legs, head resting in the crook of his neck and chin. She breathed in deeply, sucking as much courage as she was able from the air around them. "Hey." He ran his fingers through her hair. "Just say whatever it is."

"I saw Coburn." She traced the line of his shirt buttons with her index finger. "She did an ultrasound."

He swallowed hard, preemptively aware of what was coming. "And?" His voice was soft, low...dreading the answer.

"Eleven weeks." She couldn't meet his eye. "It's Carter's."

It was as though someone had punched him, bruised his heart, and he felt his whole body become heavy with aching disappointment. His fingers brushed against her cheek, and he braced himself and summoned every last shred of strength to push the sadness from his voice. "Is it healthy?"

Tears stung at her eyes, and she smiled, shifted to look him in the eye. "Yes."

His hand rested on her jaw, drawing her closer. "That's all that matters." He could feel a few tears spill onto his face, a look unlike any he'd seen from her in her watery chocolate eyes. "I won't love it any less." Her lips brushed over his, softly, then pressed against his mouth with complete and pure affection. He whispered the rest into her mouth. "I won't love you any less."

She froze, the shock of his statement blanketing her with a cold panic. And then it subsided. Tears streaked her face, hormones getting the better of her, coupled with relief and appreciation for his unparalleled kindness. She kissed him again, unable to say the words back, but implying her reciprocation in the tender action. Her head returned to lie on his chest. One hand slid up to lace through his thick, silky hair, twisting it through her fingers. "You're not disappointed?"

"I am, a little." He wouldn't lie about the matter. He shifted to a sitting position, gazing at her. "Abby, I don't know where I'm going to fit into this baby's life. I don't know how involved Carter should be, or will want to be." He lay a hand over her stomach, caressing. "But I still want to be a part of whatever it is. I'm not going anywhere."

She was crying full force now, for the first time succumbing to the changes in her body. "I'm sorry, I..." He shook his head as he gathered her close, stroking her hair.

"Don't be sorry." He let his lips rest over hers, halfway between a kiss and simple contact. Words feel from his mouth to hers. "We're in this together."

The warmth of his arms soothed her. She _needed_ him, she needed him more than she'd needed anything in so long as she could remember. More than cigarettes, more than alcohol, more than caffeine or any other addiction. She moved closer into his body, craving his safety with a desperation that scared her. "Luka."

He understood. His mouth grazed her neck, traced her collarbone, and he peeled back her sweater as her head fell back. Her clothes, then his, fell to the floor with little regard and he laid her gently below him on the sofa. Their eyes met as his large frame hovered over her small one, and she felt suddenly compelled to hold the gaze as he lowered himself to meet her, drawing a soft breath from her. His eyes never left her as they moved, taking in her form below, the effects of pregnancy apparent in her newly swollen breasts, her rosy color, the hypersensitivity of her body as she gasped again. He'd been inept to the changes until now, too caught up in simply being with her again, and god, he wanted to be with her. She was beautiful in this uncharacteristic vulnerability, and he moved with painstaking care, slowly, half afraid of hurting her, half hoping they could last forever as they were.

He held her close when it was all over, silently breathing in her scent, memorizing her. One hand moved to lie over her belly, loving the being within by association. She smiled and rested her own hand over his, sure for the first time of her decision. The baby was theirs, no matter what anyone would say or think, it was theirs in every possible way. There was no question but that she'd have gone through with termination if not for him. The thought of telling Carter was disquieting, though she knew it had to be done, and that she'd have to allow him whatever degree of involvement he wished. It was Luka, though, that she'd with her through the pregnancy, through the birth, through raising _their_ child. Her arms encircled him, holding on for dear life.

"Abby." She blinked at the sound of her name, blearily trying to place where she was, why it was dark, and how she'd ended up curled on the sofa, naked, covered by a quilt. A wave of nausea brought it all back as his hand swept her hair off her face.

She yawned. "What time is it?"

"Late." His voice was a whisper. "I got the number for the camp where Carter is. He should be waking up about now, if you want to try to reach him." Even in the dark, she could see the pain that had gone into the offer, how much it hurt him to do this for her. She nodded and took the cordless phone and scrap of paper from him. "I'll be in the shower." He kissed her forehead softly, before retreating to leave her in private.

Her hands shook as she dialed, chewing her lip raw as a dial tone sounded, then another, then a third. A thickly accented voice answered. "Allo?"

"John Carter, please? S'il vous plait?"

There was shouting, presumably in French, in the background, and crackles as the phone was jostled around. A tired, but familiar, voice answered. "Hello? This is Carter."

A knot formed in her stomach, and another wave of nausea passed over her. "Hi, it's...it's Abby."

He was silent a moment, clearly unprepared for her voice on the other end. "Abby? Hi...how are you?"

"I'm..." _How to answer?_ She didn't even know how she was herself, let alone able to voice it to someone she had worked so hard to keep at a distance in recent weeks. She slid down further in the blanket Luka had tucked around her, his scent still apparent. A smile crept over her face. "I'm okay."

"Good. I'm glad." His voice was softer, devoid of the agitation she'd heard building in the weeks before his departure. Something had changed. "Listen...I'm sorry about the way I left. I didn't want to hurt you." A small sigh. "Well, that's not exactly true. I did, but not for anything you did. I was being -"

"I'm pregnant." She winced at her own sudden announcement, but there hadn't been any other way of saying it. The sooner she admitted it, the better. There was too much temptation to simply hang up without telling him.

A long silence ensued, and she could imagine his face, mouth agape, eyes bulging. A wave of cruel satisfaction passed over her. "Pregnant? Wha...how?"

"It's pretty basic, Carter. I thought they taught you all about it in med school."

He cleared his throat. "No, I mean...it's mine?"

She found herself irritated, despite the validity of his question. "Yes."

"How far along are you?"

"Eleven weeks." She let out a wry burst of laughter. "Apparently your charm on my birthday had its repercussions."

He was silent another moment. "So have you...made a decision, then?"

She gritted her teeth. "As in?"

"I mean...you know what I mean."

"No, I don't. Please explain it to me, Carter." If she'd been able, she would have reached through the phone wires to hit him. His lack of sensitivity was not one of his better qualities.

"I just don't know if we're ready for this."

Her anger was becoming more intense, but she was determined to have this conversation. The thought of having to continue it at a later date was wholly unappealing. "You mean if _I'm_ ready for this."

His discomfort was evident in his tone. "I didn't say that."

"But you meant it."

"Well...yes. I'm just trying to be -"

"Fine. Whatever, I get it. I know you don't think I've thought this through, but I have, okay?"

The agitation had returned full-force. "Abby, I'm just trying to be reasonable. It's not as though we'd make the best parents right now. We can barely even hold a conversation."

She pursed her lips. "I'm not asking you to be involved."

"Excuse me?" His tone almost made her smile.

"I said, I'm not asking you to be involved. Look, I've put a lot of time and energy in to getting myself together, and I know I can raise this child. Without your help."

"Oh?" He clearly was unaware of her hormonal volatility.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

The edge in his voice reminded her of a fight they'd had not long before they broke up, one where she'd sworn he'd wanted to hit her. "You've been sober, what? A few months? Come on, Abby." His nerve was astounding.

"You know what, Carter, I don't need your approval. I would _never_ do anything to put my child at risk." She knew only too well of the effects.

"So now it's your child?"

"No, you condescending bastard, it's not just my child. You know, you may have fucked me, but you're not this baby's father. Not by a long shot." She was aware of how loaded the statement was, but she wasn't about to stop. "You know what, Carter? Fuck you. Go save the children, be a martyr, whatever. I don't need your blessing." She jabbed at the off switch on the cordless phone and launched it across the room, satisfied at the shattering plastic as it collided with the wall.

Luka had obviously not been far. He stood before her, assessing her with a look of concern and uncertainty. She motioned for him to sit down, extending her arms. He held her tightly as he lay back, pulling her on top of him. His hand stroked her hair, as though comforting a child, as her tears soaked his shirt. "It's okay."

She looked up, meeting his eyes, so completely sincere, and she knew. Had she ever really stopped loving him? Had she even been aware she did? It was inconsequential, really, in the scheme of things. As much as she felt it, the words still caught in her throat. She held his gaze as she moved up, lay her palm across his cheek, tears still dropping from her face to his. Her lips pressed against his, more emotion in that single kiss than she'd ever put into anything, into any words, any actions...only pure, terrifying, all-consuming love. She lay her head back on his chest after a moment, a small smile on her lips. "Want to see the ultrasound?"

He couldn't help the grin. "Yeah."

She got up for a moment to retrieve it, and came back to settle into him, holding it under the light. "What do you think?"

He kissed her neck softly. "I think it's beautiful."

She laughed. "You're such a liar."

"Mmm." He took the picture from her. "I think it's a girl. It looks like you."

She shifted and touched the picture lightly with her index finger. "Hmm. See right there? I think maybe spending so much time with you has altered the genetics. Look at the nose."

He nudged her in the ribs. "That wasn't nice."

Raising herself to her knees, she placed a gentle kiss on his nose. "It gives you character."


	18. And Baby Makes Three

She hadn't moved from her quilted nest for hours, sound asleep on his chest with just the slightest stream of saliva making its way from her lower lip to his tee-shirt. Her hands, tucked neatly under her chin, gripped the edge of the quilt as though it were her life raft, adrift in the deep ocean of his arms. Her head rested gently under his chin, the scent of her unwashed hair calming to him as he watched her slumber, unaware that she was being studied. His hold on her small figure tightened as he shifted, unconcerned with the prospect of waking her. On normal days, she slept like the dead. Pregnant, she was worse. It was much like having a warm, soft, statue on top of him; no amount of jostling or nagging would rouse her. She mumbled something incoherent and shifted around on top of him, her lips forming a sweet pout as one hand drifted to her belly, cradling the invisible child. He felt something swell inside him, some sort of contentment that had been absent for years. Her hair tasted sweet, in a way, as he pressed his lips to her head, leaving a soft kiss. He could watch her sleep endlessly, and likely would, if she had her way. He'd missed this, this closeness, this intimacy...the years that had passed apart from one another had left him with an empty feeling nearly every morning. Her gentle weight on top of him was such a deliciously complete sensation, as though she was some extension of him, some appendage that had been painfully amputated and then reattached. Only half aware of his action, he placed another soft kiss over her temple and watched as her lips curled into an unconscious smile.

It wasn't until nature's cruel alarm roused her that she even budged, the same wave of early-morning nausea that had dragged her from sleep all week long forcing her to make a dash to the bathroom. Luka crouched by her, holding her hair, his other hand making slow circles on her back. It was nearly forty minutes until she could allow him to help her into the kitchen, sinking into a chair and resting her forehead on the tabletop. He set a glass of water in front of her and dropped a spoonful of baking soda in. "Oh, please don't make me drink that." She gave him a piteous look.

"Come on. It'll make you feel better." His stony grey eyes danced as he watched her melodramatic performance, moaning as much as humanly possible before taking an infinitesimally small sip and wrinkling her nose.

"You're trying to poison me, aren't you?" She glared at him, forcing him to bite back a smile.

He moved to stand behind her and bent to kiss her head. "It's an old family secret. Just trust me." His hands rested on her shoulders and gently massaged her taut muscles, affection in his every action. She sighed and leaned her head back to gaze up at him, and he lowered himself to place a soft kiss on her mouth before recoiling, face distorted. "Ugh. Vomit flavor."

She laughed softly and rolled her eyes. "Ever the romantic, huh?"

"Just drink it." He brushed a few curls from the nape of her neck, fingers grazing her skin. "Want to do some shopping today?"

"Shopping? For what?" She made a sour face as she downed the liquid, shuddering.

His arms encircled her from behind. "Oh, you know, sexy lingerie, naughty magazines, that sort of thing."

"Shut up." She gave him a look of mock irritation.

"I needed a few things, and I thought you might like to get out and walk around a bit, that's all. Plus, if you're good, maybe I'll buy you a present."

She considered. "Actually, I do need a few things. Think you can behave yourself in a lingerie store?" His eyes lit up, and she frowned. "Not like that. I need some new bras, given..." She indicated her chest, which had grown considerably in size over the past weeks.

"Yes, I've noticed. They're quite nice." He gave her a mischievous smile.

"Luka!"

He sat down opposite her at the kitchen table, resting his chin in his hand. "If I'm good do _I_ get a present?"

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

By midmorning, they'd accomplished his errands and she'd manage to wrangle him out of the lingerie store without too much indecent behavior, though he'd managed to convince her of a few choice items. She'd been impossible past every coffee shop, resistant to his claims that an overly caffeinated chocolate beverage was not a decent lunch. He stopped as they walked by a baby store, forcing her to halt with him. Her look was much like that of a deer caught in headlights as he motioned for them to go in, cheerily ignoring her look of disgust at the frilly pink maternity clothing in the window. They entered, his hands on her back, trying as best he could to push her along without invoking her pregnant wrath. Her eyes fell upon a mahogany-stained crib on display and she wriggled free of his grasp to make a beeline for the thing. He had to smile at her change of heart, from dreading to exuberant in a matter of seconds. She motioned to him from opposite the store, eyes sparkling.

"It's stunning." He stood by her, admiring the dark wood.

She picked up the price tag between two fingers and made a sort of strangled gagging noise. "This costs more than I make in a month"

He nuzzled her neck gently, aware that he was drawing attention. Between her antics and his less-than-subtle affection, there were a number of reproachful glances cast in their direction. One hand rested over her still-flat belly. "Do you like it?"

A long sigh escaped her. "Yes. But not enough to spend this kind of money."

A coy smile spread over his face as he hailed a salesperson over, gesturing to the crib. Abby turned a deep crimson as he placed a hand over her mouth to stifle her protests. "May I help you?" The saleswoman seemed somewhat displeased by their display.

"I'd like this crib, please." He pressed his hand more firmly over Abby's mouth as she tried to object.

"Certainly. I'll have the forms at the register whenever you're ready." The woman looked slightly less irritated with them as she turned and walked away.

His hand released her from the mute state, replaced by his lips on hers. As he pulled away, he could see her face flushed, tears glistening in her eyes. "Why did you do that?"

"Because I wanted to." He had to admit he was enjoying her sentimentality.

A large tear slid down her face. "Luka..."

He brushed his thumb over her cheek, wiping the moisture away. "Don't argue with me. Just let me do this."

She burrowed her face into his chest, cursing the hormones that were overtaking her normally composed exterior. "Thank you." Her head rested on his chest as he led her to the cashier and made arrangements for delivery, all the while smiling at the growing damp spot on his shirt collar. _Women._ He shook his head and held her close, relieved that he'd have the Abby he knew back before long.

They returned to her apartment to once again curl together on the couch, her between his legs, head on his chest, one hand resting over her stomach. She looked up at him, deep in thought, eyes hazy. "You really think it's a girl?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I'd be happy either way. What about you?"

She let her head drop again, staring off into space. "I just want it to be healthy." Her fingers ran lightly over her stomach, tracing nonsensical patterns. "And I'd like it to behave and stop making me sick all the time."

Luka rolled a bit to reverse their positions, her on her back, him crouching over her, face inches from her belly. "Hear that, little one? You're driving your mother crazy. And when you do that, she drives me crazy." Her hand swatted at his head.

She tapped her belly gently. "Don't listen to him, he doesn't know what he's talking about." She sighed softly. "You know, I hope it's a girl so we can gang up on you."

"That's not fair." He was smiling.

She directed her comments back to her stomach. "You and I are going to have a good time driving your Da -" She stopped, unsure of how to proceed.

Luka caught her eye. "It's okay." His voice was soft.

She cupped his cheek gently, his stubble tickling her palm. "No. Whatever happens, you're still the father." She was silent a moment. "I never even had one stable parent growing up. This baby is lucky to have three parents who'll love it." She bit her lip and looked at him, eyes sparkling with all sorts of hope for the future. "What did you call your father?"

A lump was forming in his throat, and he hadn't felt so close to crying in years. "Tata."

She smiled, a contented, motherly sort of smile that Luka had never dreamed of seeing on her face. It lit her up like nothing he could describe. "Tata, then."


	19. Here Is Gone

_Much gratutude for my insanely patient beta-buddy and fellow Goo Goo Doll worshipper, Eva. Disclaimer: The title is actually a Goo Goo Dolls song._

It wasn't as though she hadn't grown accustomed to waking in the middle of the night for one reason or another. But this was different...an unfamiliar, wrenching ache in the depths of her belly, an electric sense of fear shooting up her spine. The cold tile of the bathroom floor that had welcomed her so many times in the past weeks as she cursed all things edible was far less hospitable now, almost hostile as she crossed the threshold. The dark stain that marred her underwear was visible the moment she sat down, the sticky warmth on her thighs now viciously obvious.

He'd woken when she rolled out of bed, the sudden detachment of her warm body from his embrace rousing him from the depths of sleep. He had taken to waiting for her to return, his protective nature getting the better of him. This morning, he'd waited eleven minutes. Eleven minutes, and then he heard the unmistakable sound of soft sobbing. He sprang up and rushed to the bathroom, pushed the door open, and saw. She was huddled in the corner, shaking, tears pouring down her face, holding her blood-soaked panties in one hand, smears of blood on the toilet and floor. He knelt next to her and pulled her in, close, as if the space between them constituted all that was wrong and somehow, if they could make that space disappear, so too would this unwelcome truth. She fell into him, sobs seizing her body violently, as she let herself go for the first time in an eternity. Scalding, raw emotion seeping out along with the blood, the hurt, the anger, the resentment, like acid that burned the walls of her hardened exterior.

Her lips tightened into a grim resolution as she pulled away, brushing the salty evidence of her humanity from her face with one hand. His face was one of stunned fear as she struggled up, still blinded by pain, discarded the bloodstained panties, wet a paper towel, and set about cleaning the place. Every so often her hand would whisk across her face to mop the silent tears. He sat, motionless, silent, as she cleaned for a few minutes, then rose to place an arm around her.

She recoiled as though he'd burned her. "Don't."

"Abby."

Her facade wavered, faltered again, and she braced herself on the bathroom counter as another current of pain coursed through her, her jaw clenched in a tight grimace, her head hung low to conceal the contorted expression. "There's nothing I can do. It's too late. It's gone."

"Abby."

Wordlessly, she slid down to sit on the floor, eyes ominously dull. He moved to pick up the wet rags, her pajama pants with ominous red spot, and deposit them all into the garbage. Gently, as he would've the child, he picked her up from the floor and carried her to the bedroom. She lay on the bed, in a grief-stricken paralysis, as he arranged pillows behind her and found her fresh clothing. Her small figure on the bed, exposed. She was only just now beginning to show, nature's cruel irony. The slightest curve. He covered her with a blanket, not caring if she bled on the thing. A quilt was replaceable. Their child was lost.

He'd lamely tried to persuade her to go to the hospital, but she'd shook her head, told him she was fine there. Not enough blood to worry, she'd muttered. He'd surrendered with only a halfhearted fight. He called Coburn anyway, promised to keep an eye on her, bring her in by week's end.

He returned to find her staring at the wall, neither awake nor asleep. Limbo. The hell of all hells. He sat gently on the bed, averting his gaze. He couldn't bring himself to see her like that, as he had only a few times before. It was as if she'd abandoned her body, leaving only a vacant shell in her place, devoid of all of what he loved about her...her fire...her passion...her being. A hollow semblance in her place. "Do you need anything?"

Her voice was impassive, as though coming from elsewhere to reverberate off her form. "Pads. And ibuprofen."

"I'll have my cell."

He'd intended to go straight to the pharmacy, but his feet let him two blocks east and three south to bring him to a place he hadn't ventured in longer that he liked to admit. A bereft sigh escaped him as he sat heavily in the back row of pews, his only company a priest arranging candles off to one corner. The position came naturally to him. He hadn't done it in years, but his body knew, knees bent without being asked, hands clasped on the pew in front of him, head bowed. _She'd already lost so much. Why this? Of all people, why her? She'd done nothing wrong, and everything right. _His hand struck the bench, once, then twice. A grimace covered his face as he held back all of what he wanted to scream, the injustice of it all.

The voice was soft. "My son?"

No one had called him that in years, not since he'd found a few days solace in a cathedral in Zagreb when he couldn't face the world. His throat was dry. He was half afraid to express the thoughts raging in his mind to the man, but words fell from his mouth before he had time to stop them. "She doesn't deserve this." His voice wasn't anything more than a hushed mutter.

A series of steady breaths came from the man beside him. He remembered how soothing it was to sit in a church, the calmness, the slow pace, the peacefulness of the priest who'd spoken with him for hours upon end in Zagreb. He'd been so lost then...so unsure of where to go, what to do. "Who?"

Luka's trance was broken by the question. "Abby." His throat was knotted as he tried to swallow the anger welling inside of him...words began pouring out of him, memories of his own past, of hers, their history. His company was quiet, somber. He never spoke like this, never opened himself to anyone as he did the rare stranger. He had begun losing faith long ago, but something still comforted him about speaking to a priest, as he had a few years back, in the hospital. The last time he'd cried. "I don't know if I can believe in a God that would allow this." His voice was bitter. "She's never hurt anyone. She doesn't deserve all this."

"My son, there are things even I cannot explain about this world." The leathery, wrinkled face was serene as he spoke. "God works in ways we cannot always understand."

Luka's shoulders hunched more. "Forgive me father, but I don't think I can believe in God anymore."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She was restless. He'd left more than an hour ago, and she had been reduced to using an old washcloth in place of pads. Any day, she'd be irritated, but it was irrelevant now. She cradled the sonogram in her palm, forehead pressed to the cold window. This was all she'd ever have of the child, a black and white blur. One finger traced the faint lines as gnawing sadness reminded her that this was different than all the times before that they'd gazed at it, mesmerized by the possibilities in a single image. There would be no more guessing if it would be a boy or a girl. It was now and forever simply an _it_ that never would be. Her second failure of motherhood, another memory to try and forget. She'd done this somehow. Too much coffee, too little sleep, too many hours on her feet. Too naive. Too eager.

The large boxed tucked in the corner seemed to condemn her. The mahogany wood, the sign he'd given her of what this meant...now it was just a reminder of things lost. She didn't know why she did it, then, why she felt inexorably compelled to tear the cardboard away to touch the glossy surface, hating it for what it wouldn't be.

The door opened, and he saw her, kneeling on the floor, expression blank. He cast the pharmacy bag aside and went to her. "I thought...I needed to..." She was shaking.

He nodded, placed one tentative hand on her shoulder, and she flinched, as he'd expected. "Abby."

"Get it out of here. Please. Just..." She turned without finishing. The slam of the bedroom door seemed louder than it should have, an implication of finality that stung more than he could begin to comprehend.


	20. Uninvited

_Many thanks to my beta-reader, as usual, and for all my reviews. Chapter title is actually an Alanis Morissette song...for she is the goddess of inspiration._

Another dusk fell like a blanket as she lay, tangled in her thoughts, in an isolative barricade from him. He'd brought her food, water, tea, anything he could think of, but it lay untouched, and he'd eventually given up and left her to her devices. He knew she would only come to him when she was ready, that he couldn't push, and so he allowed her the sanctuary of her bedroom, uninterrupted. The silence was both welcome and terrifying, the concept of being alone real for the first time since this _thing_ had come to define her. A hand rested over her belly, as though comforting the newly vacant spot, trying to define what use it was now.

She'd wanted it. Even if it had been under strange circumstance, even if it had kept her irreversibly tied to an inconvenient and unpleasant history, she'd wanted it. For her. For Luka. For their future. A future with a green-painted nursery, a mahogany crib, midnight feedings, sore breasts, miniscule outfits...she had already painted the image in her mind of his large form folded into a chair, cradling the warm little being, whispering in his tongue. His smile had been genuine, eyes full of unconditional affection, and the little being would grow to bound into their bedroom, fling itself atop them, and demand its father fix it breakfast. There would be birthdays with brightly-colored boxes, streamers, a gooey warm cake that didn't quite look right as she'd tried to prepare it herself, Christmases with the child suspended in the air in its father's arms, placing the star on the tree as its mother looked on, trips to the beach with brightly colored toys and ruffly swimsuits and sandwiches with the slightest salty flavor...she'd wanted it all. Every last bit of it, cliché, messy, difficult, all of it. She'd wanted _them_.

A searing pain shot through her as if someone had shoved a hot iron through her naval into her abdomen. She jerked as the throbbing sensation seized her, let out a soft cry. They'd come and gone over the past day, unrelenting reminders of the hell she'd fallen into. The breath she'd drawn in, held, slowly escaped as her muscles relaxed, a tear creeping out the corner of one eye. _Ice._ She needed ice. Slowly, tentatively, she crawled out of the familiar sanctuary of the warm bed and made her way to the door. It was as though some horrifying beast lay on the other side, prepared to consume her whole the moment she set foot outside.

He was visible from the bottom few steps, though he didn't seem to notice her presence. Intuitively, she hung back a moment, watching him. He sat on the couch, hunched over, head in hands...and she could see. Crying. He was crying.

Her approach went unnoticed until she stood before him, disheveled, face as somber as he'd ever seen it. Hastily, he tried to wipe the tears away, a futile act more symbolic than anything else. _It was her anguish, hers to mourn._ Wordlessly, her hand extended to him, a rudimentary offering in their shared grief. He accepted, his arm sliding around her waist as they ambled feebly to the bedroom. She curled into him, the fetal position she assumed cruelly ironic, and yet appropriate. Surrender. Admission that she needed him, his warm form beside her, together. The strong arms she'd denied intoxicating in how badly she craved their offering of solace. Pain had grown exponentially, bottled inside, silent, for as long as she'd stayed hidden from him. Finally she crept up to lay nose-to-nose, eyes fixed on his. "I wanted it, you know. For us."

He nodded. "I know."

"You wanted it, too." It wasn't a question, merely a harrowing observation to no one in particular.

He answered nonetheless. "Yes."

"Even if..."

"Even if." His arms held her closer, fingers traced the length of her spine. More words ached to be set free, but he swallowed them, too much, too soon. How completely he loved her. How she'd have made an incredible mother. How she still could, if she wanted, with him. How he'd love her if she didn't want to just as much as if she did. How he'd never wish hurt like this upon her, how she didn't deserve it. In lieu of it all, he simply laid a kiss on her temple, the faintest remnants of tears leaving a salty taste on his lips.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The doorbell woke them from an exhausted sleep, curled together for protection from whatever demons might try to harm them in their dreams. Luka brushed a few stray hairs from her face. "I'll get it."

An odd sensation of dread overcame him before he even touched the handle, but he pulled the door open nonetheless. A fatigued countenance turned to scathing disapproval as Carter gazed at him levelly a moment, then let out a soft snort of disgust. "Why am I not surprised to find you here?"

Luka was a second too late in trying to block him, and the other man pushed past him to make his way into Abby's apartment. "Carter..." His tone was warning, but unheeded.

"Where is she?" Carter's eyes, narrowed in ill-feeling, surveyed the apartment...Luka's sweater, jacket, displaced cushions on the sofa, the crib in the corner. "I came to see Abby. Where is she?" His tone was almost vicious, then, Luka couldn't entirely blame him given the situation.

Luka made an attempt to usher the intruder towards the door, but was shaken off. "Carter, please..."

She froze in the hallway upon seeing who it was that had broken their silence. Her eyes, shrouded almost entirely by displaced strands of hair, were still visibly terrified. Words were unnecessary. Her eyes fixed on Carters', unwillingly, and yet unavoidably. The gaze was that of predator and prey, almost, fear meeting fire. It was as though he held her captive, paralyzed with his eyes.

"Abby." One step towards her was as far as he managed before Luka seized him by the arm and forcibly moved him to the door, shutting both on the outside as the smaller man protested, swung at him, missed. "What the hell do you think -"

"She miscarried." The words hung in the air, heavy, ominous, like the aftermath of a hurricane.

The rage drained from Carter's face, replaced by an almost bewildered look. "Oh...God, I didn't...I wouldn't have..." He leaned heavily on the opposite wall. "When?"

"Yesterday morning." Luka had no sympathy left in him for Carter. He felt drained, devoid of any capacity to explain. "Look, I don't want to get into it now. I need to go back and look after Abby."

Carter nodded, an almost tangible sense of defeat about him. "Yeah...sure. Go do what you need to. Tell her to call me at home when she's up to it." He barely looked at Luka as he retreated down the hallway.

Luka returned to find Abby huddled pitifully on the couch, picking absent-mindedly at the pills on the sofa cushion. "Hey." He sunk heavily into the seat next to her.

"Hey." She continued to focus on her extrication of lint as she curled into him. "He's gone?"

"Yeah. I killed him and threw his body down the garbage chute."

She couldn't suppress a small smile. "Thanks." Her face became serious again, knees drawn close to her chest as her head rested on his lap, a vacant expression on her pale face. "What did he say?"

His fingers ran through her hair, soothing, his other arm draped possessively over her body. "To call him when you're up to it. That's all."

"You told him?" There was no hint of resentment to her question.

"Shortly after he took a swing at me, yes."

She shifted to look up at him, perplexed. "He tried to hit you?"

"Mmm. Lousy aim."

"Did you hit him back?" She seemed almost hopeful for a moment, then regretted the question. "Never mind. I didn't mean that." She sighed. "Maybe a little."

He had to smile at her audacity. "You know it's not his fault, right?"

"I know, but he's not here. Which makes it awfully easy to blame him."

"Abby." Her humor was returning in increments, apparently. Or perhaps just her cynicism. Either way, the shades of her character lifted his own spirits a bit. "Bitterness does not become you."

She rolled onto her back to look up at him, and he realized he'd mistaken pain for joking. It had fleetingly slipped his mind how stinging Carter's abandoning her had been...and suddenly, it dawned on him. _She expected him to do the same._ He'd done it before, though it was mutual in that instance. Maggie, Carter, even Richard, in his way,...and now her child. Each had left her. A wound reopened over and over, rubbed raw with continuous betrayal. She spoke softly, words thick with subliminal truth. "Maybe I want to be bitter. I'm good at it."

"This was not your fault, Abby."

She pursed her lips and leaned up, away from him. "That's very idealistic of you, Luka, but even you know it's not true. My lifestyle was not what one would call 'Dr. Spock approved'."

He shook his head. "Abby, these things happen all the time. The likelihood that you caused this -"

"Is significant. I was drinking lethal amounts of caffeine, on and off the pill, getting maybe five hours of sleep a night, not eating right...Luka, in all honesty, I probably am responsible for miscarrying." Her voice was icy, but more lively than he'd heard it in a few days. "No, I didn't know I was pregnant, but it doesn't change the fact that I put myself and my baby at risk. You can think about this as nature's little accident if you like, but I'm not going to try and fool myself. I did this. Me." Tears were rolling down her cheeks now, bottled within for nearly two days, drenching her face with a vengeance. "I am the one at fault, here."

He sat, staring, in shock for a moment. There was no answer to give, no reasoning to argue her assertion. She was right. He could be idealistic all he wanted, but for what? Only one thing could possibly be said. He leaned forward and held her chin in one hand, kissing her forcefully, almost angrily. When he drew back, it was impossible to tell if the wetness on his face was from her own tears or his. "I love you, Abby."


	21. I Know

_To clarify: The whole malaria-Congo storyline was too vital to the characters for me to disregard its existence...thus, it all went mostly as TPTB wrote it, but the timeline and a few bits was altered, including when exactly Carter and Abby broke up. "Dear Abby" never occured, but Luka did go to the Congo and was supected dead, Carter went after him, Luka had malaria, but in this version, Carter came back with him. It's a wacky change, I know, but I thought it would be terrible of me to take away my favorite sub-plot of the show (other than Luby). Because DAMN did Luka look good in that hot sun, all malaria-stricken, and...yeah._

"You sure you're up to this?" Luka's lips were pinched into a concerned frown as he held her coat for her, the idea of her going to meet Carter unsettling in infinite ways.

She nodded, a curt, resigned jerk of the chin that signified _of course she wasn't but never would be._ It would take all her composure, all her stubbornness, all her ingrained skill of dissociating to make it through the encounter. "Let's just go." Her voice was deceivingly steady, but her hand shook as she gripped his, the clasp unbroken as they drove in silence to the river. Neutral territory, common ground. As common as they could find. He found a place to park not far from their arranged destination, brow furrowed as he gave her one last glance, eyes filled with something she couldn't quite identify.

His gloved hand reached across to sweep a few hairs from her face. "I'll be here when you're finished."

The corners of her mouth curled into a forced smile, tight, unfooling. She gave him a small nod and slid out from the safety of the car into the brisk cold, eyes searching his almost frantically, begging for an out. He reached out one hand, a knit cap dangling from two fingers. The nurturing gesture was not lost, and she took it, turned, left him, raising the fabric to her nose to breathe in his lingering scent as soon as she was out of sight. It was barely a block to where they'd arranged to meet, not far from where she and Luka had kissed that evening in the snow. Now, the ground was an unseemly brown, smatterings of melting snow every few feet contrasting with the soggy lumps of earth that constituted thawing terrain. The air was almost sticky with frigid moisture, the end of March sputtering pathetically into April, the limbo of seasons. Large chunks of ice were visible, bobbing in the river like upchucked snowcones, frothing at the edges as they mixed back into the current. A familiar silhouette sharpened and came into focus as she strode slowly towards the bench, and her fingers choked the material of the hat, still clutched in one sweaty palm, as though the presence of it would be enough to drive Carter away. She stopped in front of him, unsure of the appropriate greeting for the situation.

He provided the only phrase sure not to drive her off. "I brought you a coffee. Black, three sugars. Still how you take it?"

She sat and accepted the cardboard cup, grateful for the token. "Thanks."

"I thought it might help to redeem me for being such an asshole yesterday."

"Hmm. And how exactly were you planning on making up for the last three months?" A small fire has been lit within, but it died just as quickly. "Sorry. Not the time."

He shrugged almost nonchalantly. "I deserved it."

"Yes, you did." The hot liquid slid from the plastic top into her mouth, rolling across her tongue before making its way down her throat, filling her with a much-needed source of comfort. Twice the redemption for decent coffee. "Care to try and explain any of it?"

His shoulders slumped into an almost adolescent shrug, like a teenaged boy who'd been caught in the act and questioned. Almost impervious to the repercussions of his actions, it seemed, but the faint flush of his cheeks gave away his chagrin. It wasn't anything but resentment for his shortcomings, resentment that someone else had succeeded where he'd failed. "I don't have any answers. Not right now, at least." She rubbed her thumb over the hem of the cap, still balled in her fist, waiting for the inevitable inquiry. He didn't make her wait long. "So...how're you feeling?"

Her tongue slid out from her mouth to skim the chapped perimeter of her lips, almost snakelike. "You really want me to answer that?"

"Yes. I'm asking out of genuine concern." He raised an eyebrow. "I do care."

She drew her knees up to her chest, eyes glassy, faraway. "Like shit. I feel like shit." She began jostling her knee up and down nervously, frantically. "I'm bleeding out my child, Carter, how the fuck do you think I feel?"

He gazed off at the river, silent, for a few moments, then cast a sideways glance at Abby. "You love him?"

The muscles in her jaw tensed, relaxed, tensed again, her eyes steely as she purposely stared at a withered oak a few feet off, grounding her. "Is that really your business?"

"I wasn't asking to be nosy." Their lines of sight diverged in almost opposite directions, as though if they actually looked at one another, it would inevitably shatter the fragile ceasefire. "I'm assuming you were planning on raising the baby with him. And that, given your sudden change of heart concerning motherhood, something had to have happened to convince you." He nipped the edges of his cuticle, almost meticulous in his words. Neither sensitive nor cruel. "So?"

_Motherhood. Child._ An acid taste swelled in her mouth, replaced by the bittersweet flavor of coffee. "Yes." Her lips pursed into an almost sour pucker at the admission, waiting for a torrent of jealous reasoning.

She heard only resignation. "We made a lousy couple, Abby. Great friends...but a lousy couple."

A wry snort escaped her. "You're just now realizing that?"

"Obstinacy is one of those rare commonalities we share." He crossed his arms over his chest, leaned back into the wooden slats of the bench tinged with dark stains from icicles melting overhead. "So what are we supposed to be talking about?"

She rubbed her hands together apprehensively. She'd braced herself preemptively for his lacking of subtly, but she wasn't completely unscathed. She found herself almost wishing he'd sugarcoat his words, for once. "Something to the effect of closure, I think. Sorry, I forgot to check the protocol on all this."

He shook his head, almost amused. "Abby...I don't know what to say. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe not. But it would be stupid of me to act like I hadn't been opposed to the idea of you having the baby. We both recall what was said."

The observation went almost unacknowledged, simply hung there, neither accepted nor denied. Both knew the implications of his statement. Relinquishing his claims to grief...to the baby...to her. "I didn't want it to end like this."

"I know." He hesitated before giving her hand a gentle squeeze, unfazed by the flinching reaction. "I'm sorry it did. For you." The sincerity in his voice was evident. She'd missed it in the fallout of their relationship.

"I know." She shivered slightly in the cold, or perhaps from the flood of emotion tied in knots within.

He glanced at his hands, red and stiff in the cold. "So what now?"

"What do you mean?" Her voice had returned to the dull monotone.

"I mean...I'm not sure what I mean." He frowned. "I guess I'm asking if you need anything from me. Or want anything."

The breeze whipped her hair gently in her face, slapping gently at her cheeks and nose. "No. Not really." What she needed, she'd find waiting not far off, likely listening to NPR and drinking a thermos of hot coffee, fretting over her well-being. "So...back to Africa?"

A small smile emerged on his lips. "Somebody's got to save the world."

She huffed softly. "If you're the world's last resort, I don't know how much faith I have in the future."

The smile flickered on his face again. "There's the sarcasm I know and love. For a second, I'd wondered."

A thought played in her mind, one that had plagued her before. Now it simply begged for recognition, in this new turn life had taken. "Did you?" The question was almost completely lacking in emotional investment. "Love me, I mean?"

He let out a long sigh. "Yes...I still do." His hand twitched with the desire to hold hers, but he resisted. "But we both know it wasn't enough. Or the right kind. Or something to that effect."

A small peal of laughter emitted from her, half wistful, half scornful. "Why do I know exactly what you mean?"

"I don't know. Can't be a good sign."

She shook her head. "God, we're both certifiable, aren't we?" The conversation bordered on lighthearted, and would have been, if not for circumstance.

"I wouldn't doubt it." He nipped at his thumbnail again. "We'd have to be, really. I don't know how we let it go on as long as we did."

"Probably because we're both incredibly stubborn. And slightly masochistic."

"Another of our shared vices." He leaned heavily on the bench and turned to look at her. "I hope you know I do want you to be happy. Even if it is with that overrated hack of a Eurodoc." The corners of his mouth twitched.

Her wry smile was only partly forced. "Gee, thanks. I'll relay the message."

"I've seen how he looks at you, Abby. We never looked at each other that way." He rose to his feet, extended a hand to her. "Just so long as he doesn't run off to Africa

again...I've already saved his ass enough times."

The apartment seemed cleaner somehow as they returned, fresher. As though they'd cleared some of the debris weighing them down. Luka's warm hands sliding the jacket from her shoulders were the first welcome human contact she'd felt in three days. She leaned into him heavily, the man who looked at her that way, even now. _Step One: We admitted we were powerless over alcohol and that our lives had become unmanageable. Step Two: Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity._ The words of page fifteen were forever ingrained in her memory. _A Power greater than ourselves._ Her eyes met his, for the first time, not looking away. She'd give into need. "Would you..." The words came uneasily. "Would you help me in the shower? Please?"

It was as though he could sense her need for reassurance, his touch never leaving her as he led her to the bathroom, ran the shower, helped her undress. Her gaze fell on him as the doors slid closed, the wordless thanks lingering as her figure was obscured by the heavy glass doors. He sat on the closed toilet seat as her silhouette was visible, water pouring over her, aware his presence was the only thing she wanted at the moment; no words, no smiles, no attempts at cheering her. Simply being.

He could feel the atmosphere of the bathroom change before her hand pressed against the glass, before she mumbled his name, an almost strangled cry. "Luka."

Dark crimson on white porcelain, sliding from her ankles to drain, pulled her senses along with it, all the strength she'd gathered swirling down the drain with the bloody reminder. Her eyes closed against it all as he helped her sit, turned off the shower. She didn't shrug off his arms, encircling her, only drew her body into a tight ball as sobs racked her. His head rested on hers, her damp hair against his cheek like silky, brown tears. "I know...I know."


	22. Reckoning

April was ultimately a metaphor - intermittent days of rain and sunshine, warm and cold, melting snow into grayish pools of nothingness that ran down the crevasses in the pavement towards the sewer grates in search of something more. She recuperated as did the earth, the deadness of winter slowly and painfully giving in to the rebirth of spring. A few days came and went when he'd find her in sutures, or the drug lockup, or the kitchen, silent tears slipping down her cheeks, but they passed, grew less frequent, until she was almost normal. Almost okay.

He was cooking dinner at his apartment one evening as the dusky shadows of sunset cast over the apartment, the warmth of the season giving both of them a sluggish feeling. She lay on the couch with no particular agenda, save for the nagging urge to breast-feed something. She'd heard of phantom limbs, but hadn't expected phantom pregnancy. She'd woken up a few mornings convinced her belly had grown, expecting to see a protruding bump, almost confused when she didn't. There had been a few bouts of morning sickness, cravings, mood swings...cruel, really, in the aftermath of what had happened, that the hormonal tornado within still had yet to subside. To be fair, the male creature lurking in the kitchen found it quite amusing that she'd wake at dawn to eat peanut butter out of the jar or doze off on the El. Then again, he'd also been her savior of sorts - not the cliché version, riding in on his noble steed to rescue her, but the kind she'd never had before, accepting, patient, simply there. She'd half expected him to break it off, to storm out, on a number of occasions, usually when her emotions erupted into a fit of displaced anger, but he hadn't...he'd stayed. Almost ferociously.

The air was too heavy in the apartment, the smell of his culinary endeavor mixing with stale air enough to sicken her. Slowly, she slid from the couch to pry the window open, letting in a gust of coolness that smelled of melting snow and apple orchards, though where exactly that scent had originated in the concrete jungle outside, she couldn't guess. "Luka!"

"Mmm?" He was obviously engrossed in his work, the next Wolfgang Puck in his flannel pajama pants, old tee shirt, and that snarky "Kiss the Cook" apron she'd bought him, insisting it was the only decent thing if she was going to have to endure his Croatian specialties.

"Is there a fan somewhere in this place?" She frowned and waved her stiffened palm in front of her face, emphasizing her need despite his inability to actually see it.

He still didn't emerge from his workspace. "Hall closet, I think...oh, wait, let me -"

She had already slid open the doors by the time he said it. His swift footsteps behind her indicated panic, dread, of her reaction. But she'd seen, and stood fixated, frozen, staring at the box, one corner open to reveal a glossy mahogany finish. "You..."

His hand rested gently on her shoulder. "I couldn't get rid of it. I didn't...I thought we might..." He was at a loss to explain in any way that could possibly come out right. "I couldn't."

Silence hung in the air for a few poignant moments like a precariously balanced coin wavering between heads and tails, fight or flight. Her voice emerged as though tainted with something jagged. "I can't do this, Luka."

"Do what?" His voice was soft, tentative.

A fire in her eyes that hadn't been present over the past month startled him as she whipped around to face him. "I can't be with you if that's what you expect. I don't want that to be our relationship!" Her lower lip trembled slightly, clearly overcome in the moment. "If what you want out of this is a family, I can't do it."

He watched her stalk away towards the bedroom, dumbfounded, until the meaning of her words set in. It took him barely four long strides to reach her, grab her wrist, and spin her to face him. "Abby." She wouldn't look at him. "Abby." Two fingers caught her under the chin to align their gazes. "I want you. That's all."

The sincerity in the silvery eyes was more than obvious, but still, she studied his expression for longer than needed. Her voice came out almost a defiant whisper. "And if I don't want a baby?"

"You're enough. Just you." His fingers brushed chocolate strands of silk from her forehead. "I think you do want a baby, Abby. I know you do. I saw how happy it made you." She began to look away, drop her hands from his grasp, and he pulled her chin back to him. "But it's not why I'm with you. Honestly."

Her eyes closed briefly, then focused back on his. "I don't want to be the woman you're with because I'll have your children."

His forehead rested on hers. "You wouldn't be. I want to be with you because you're you." A smile flickered on his lips. "And you drive me crazy."

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" She moved tentatively into his embrace, and then seemingly melted in. His answer had been all she needed. A test, really.

"Yes."

The answer urged a chuckle from her, soft against his body, his hands simultaneously making calming circled on her back. It was a few moments before she spoke, serious again. "I don't know if we're there yet, honestly. I mean...where we can think about that." A soft sigh fluttered the cotton of his shirt, warm, through the fabric. "We still...I don't know. Have things to work out."

"So? Let's work them out." His lips touched the crown of her head, fighting back a smile. She had a way of mincing words that had taken him quite awhile to decipher.

She laughed. "Now?"

"No time like the presented." He shrugged, looking down at her.

"The present. No time like the present."


	23. Tempting

_Title is Sam Shaber's song, "Tempting". I love it so much, but I hate reading lyrics, so google it if you're interested. These last two chapters (this and the next) are a touch more mature, but I'm not changing the rating because I don't feel it's explicit. So use your own judgement, and if you're offended, I've at least disclaimed._

If he'd known what a few hours of talking could do to them, he'd have done it far sooner. The intensity of the conversation, the rawness of emotion, the vulnerability...it was inevitable that it would end as it did. It wasn't simply because they'd abstained after the miscarriage, the experience was far more fresh and new and novel than that. It was altogether an unknown territory, the wounds they'd opened and truths they'd shared bringing them together in a way neither had experienced. Walls had been broken. Later, he'd compare it to losing his virginity, and she'd agree - exhilarating, terrifying, euphoric, and yet without any qualms or inhibitions. Simply giving themselves to one another, unrestrained.

His body fit against hers to hold her afterwards, negligible space between them, face resting in that silky-soft space where her neck met her shoulder. The reverberations of his voice against her own throat forced her lips to curl into a pouting smile. "We should talk more often."

Lovemaking had lowered her defenses, clouded her mind from censoring her murmured words. "This scares me, Luka."

"What does?" His lips pressed just behind her ear to kiss the tender skin.

She shifted against him, his skin on hers deliciously calming. "Trusting you. Telling you these things." She brought his hand to her mouth to gently kiss his fingertips. "I've never been very good at the whole honesty thing."

"Really?" He nuzzled her neck softly. "I had no idea."

"Shut up."

He slid one hand tighter around her waist. "Me neither."

She let silence hang over them a few moments, turning thoughts over in her mind. Finally, the question came, thick with emotional exhaustion. "Do you ever have regrets...wish things had turned out differently?"

One hand snaked more firmly around her waist. "What do you mean?"

"When you told me...when you told me about Vukovar." Her eyes crinkled as she failed to suppress a yawn. "If your wife and children had gone with you to the store..." She trailed off.

"I don't know." He'd rolled the question around in his mind countless times. "If they'd lived...I loved them. I do love them." There was an almost audible disappointment to his answer. She'd asked knowing full well what his response would be, yet needed to hear it. He placed a kiss to her temple. "But then, I wouldn't have met you."

She tensed slightly. "But they'd be alive."

"One isn't worse than the other." A quiet acceptance gave him the air of one far wiser than he could claim to be. "I can't think about it like that. It's just...not fair. Like asking which child a parent loves more." He brushed a few stray locks of hair from her face, thoughtful. "That's why I have to believe everything happens for a reason. It's too hard, otherwise."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to -"

"Don't be sorry." He let his head rest in the crook of her neck and shoulder, an almost oddly perfect fit. "I think about it a lot. About what it would be like, if I'd change things if I could, if I could trade one for the other." Eyes heavy, she sighed softly and stroked his face with two fingers. A quiet understanding.

"I do want to have a baby...with you." A warm sigh tickled his hand. "It scares the hell out of me, but I do."

An almost-knot tightened his throat, a warm swell in his chest threatening to break it, spill out onto the sofa, onto her. Tears, blood, whatever it was that was electric in him. She might as well have proposed love, marriage, and endless sex for the rest of his life. Words failed him. Instead, he rolled her slightly and arched himself over her to see a pair of watery brown eyes and a pair of pale rosy lips. He kissed her then, softly, and yet with more intensity than she recalled ever being kissed. "Abby..." Her name came out a lingering whisper.

"Mmm?" She ran the back of her hand over his jaw, stubbly from two days without shaving.

"You're beautiful." Gently, tenderly, he lowered his mouth to her shoulder, barely even making contact as his lips brushed the smooth skin. She shivered as he traced the lines of her collarbone, up her neck, almost as though taking her pulse with his mouth, across her jaw, to rest on her temple, pressing a more substantive kiss to her hairline. His hands caressed her bare stomach, dancing his fingers across her skin, lovingly, delicately.

An unconscious smile slid across her face. "Luka." She rolled a little to face him, a serene expression on her face. He smiled, kissed the tip of her nose, nudged her almost playfully with his forehead. "I do want to...just not yet. I need time."

One hand found hers and squeezed it gently as he drew it to his lips. "I know. I'm not going anywhere." He kissed her again, spelling his intentions across her lips. Everything she'd exposed to him had only made him love her more...a breached barrier that made it impossible for him to find a single flaw with this woman, brainwashed with his own feelings. It had been so long since he felt that, anything of comparable magnitude. Absolute acceptance, unconditional love. Had he really ever lived without loving her? His lips brushed against her forehead again, over her eyelid, over her cheeks, her lips...memorizing. She shivered again below him, eyes closed to any distraction from his affections as they melded together once more. Making love seemed, for the first time, not enough to him. He wanted her more than just physically, if he could possibly engulf her being somehow, it would be a start. Words, too, fell short. Murmuring the words seemed suddenly meaningless in the scheme of things. Others used those words, yet they couldn't possibly understand the extent of what ached in his core. Quiet desperation tinged his request. "Look at me."

Her eyes opened to reveal something indefinable as they met his, expression equally abstract. Something different...something neither had the means to explain. It was almost fear that held their gaze, his fear to look away, her fear to see what lay in his eyes. She twined herself around him as they moved, needing, wanting, craving. He gave, indulged, quenched. They lay entangled in the aftermath of overwhelming sensation and emotion, unmoving, silent, clutching one another almost desperately. A single bead of perspiration slid from his temple to nose to her cheek to mix with a single tear, mingling together as they slid down to drop onto their clasped hands.


	24. The Sweetest Taboo

He hadn't intended to broach the subject quite as he did. It had simply fallen out of his mouth without prior consideration, without foresight as to her reaction. It hadn't been pleasant. Her expression had gone from pleasant to stony in a matter of nanoseconds, and he'd instantly regretted it. She had simply needed to locate a shirt, any shirt to go with her pants, and he'd suggested she check the laundry basket. And then it had sort of slipped out - "You know, you might as well just move in here."

She'd whirled around to reveal a deer-caught-in-headlights look. "Pardon?"

"I…well…all your things are here, practically." Another statement of sheer eloquence.

"Is that a problem?"

"No! I just…I _like_ that your things are here."

She'd huffed quietly and gone to retrieve a shirt, leaving him to assume he was in the clear. Not even close. She returned looking even more displeased than when she'd left the room. "I think I'll stay at my place tonight. Clean up some of this mess I've left over here, go catch up on my housework."

"Abby."

"No, it's fine. You're right, I'm cluttering your place."

"Abby, you know that's not what I meant."

"Sounded like it." She began snatching items from the floor, the counter, his bureau. "I don't want to be in your way."

"Abby, don't. I like having you here, that's why I brought it up. Don't do this."

She spun to face him. "Do what? I'm not doing anything."

"You're getting upset over nothing." He sighed and knotted his tie carefully. "I asked because I like having you here. I want you here, all the time."

"You'll be late." She scowled and stalked out of the room.

He followed her, the beginnings of irritation taking hold. "You know, you can't avoid this sort of thing all the time. One of these days, you're going to have to face this." His words were harsher than intended.

She scoffed. "That was not an invitation, that was…that was a bad excuse for an argument."

"An argument? You're the only one arguing!"

A scoff. "Right."

He wrenched the door open, coat in hand. "What the hell are you afraid of Abby?" The lam of the door had an unpleasant finality to it.

The argument was a nagging weight on his mind as he fumbled through the tasks at hand, doctoring on autopilot, answering with only concise, vacant answers. Had there been any presence of mind left in him, he would've worried about a potential lapse in judgment, a mistake, but nothing concerned him except how he'd left things. She'd been so distant, so cold to him…and he'd been belligerent in return, rather than understanding. She needed compassion, not frustration. His hardheaded sense of justice served him well in the ER for the most part, but it crept into his home all too often, and she was the last person to accept judgment. The last person he'd meant to judge.

Jerry's voice called to him as he ambled by the desk. "Dr. Kovac. Phone."

He answered warily. "This is Kovac."

"Hi." Her voice was soft, nearly imperceptible. "Luka?"

"Is something wrong?"

Her tone was difficult to read, but the response didn't warrant a second thought. "Come home."

It had taken him a fraction of a second to bolt out of there, sprint for the El…it seemed to be moving at a snail's pace. His pulse pounded out a terrified rhythm as he took the stairs three at a time until the apartment door was within reach of his key, grinding hastily in the lock. "Abby?"

Movement came from the hallway. His gaze landed on her, a wholly unexpected sight. Hair in delicate curls, an exquisite satin teddy, kitten heels…she was a wonder to behold. Her face was somber, brown eyes sparkling and tranquil as she approached him, frozen in place. Her hands cupped his face and she drew his mouth to hers slowly, gently, to barely kiss him, more a suggestion of a kiss than anything. She looked up at him solemnly. "I love you."

His hands rested lightly on her waist. "You're all right?"

The soft ringlets bounced as she nodded, one falling delicately over her eye. "I will be."

One hand cradled the back of her head, the other grazed her cheek softly with an implicit response, but he answered aloud nonetheless. "I love you, too." His spine curved naturally as he bent to meet her, pleasantly accustomed to the position. She let her gentle weight press into him, head tilted up to meet his lips, a kiss barely imperceptible at first. Her hands stroked the sides of his face, fingers making gentle lines down his temples. She stepped backward, nearly forcing him to break the kiss, but one hand found his to pull him with her. He could feel a rush as his pulse quickened, her destination more than apparent.

She had surprised him before with lingerie, candlelit baths, the like. Always been perfectly comfortable in her sexuality. But there had been something different, something reserved about it. As though there was some invisible line between giving all of herself and giving only what she was willing. This, he knew, was all of her, every flaw, every insecurity, everything he loved. Sensual…sexual…desirable in an entirely new way. He found himself numb to everything else but her, her hands, her lips, her body guiding him. Her fingers skimmed under his lapel to slide his jacket off, then caress the silk of the tie, almost charming it off. She plucked the buttons of his Oxford shirt open delicately, kissing her way down his chest as he found himself utterly lost in the moment, hands running up and down the length of her waist. He'd never for a moment found her anything less than stunning, anything less than sexy, but this, _this_, was a new side to her that was beyond thrilling.

She undressed him slowly, deliberately, then stopped to look up at him once again. Her eyes shone as she repeated the words he knew she wouldn't - couldn't - say unless she meant them. "I love you, Luka." She placed a soft kiss to his sternum before crawling up onto the mattress, urging him to join her. He carefully lifted the teddy over her head, heels already kicked off to the floor, and she lowered herself to a seated position on his lap, her soft weight delicious against him. His hands slid over her back, reveling in the feeling of her skin. Her head tilted almost involuntarily to the side as he kissed her neck. They sat, half embracing, as foreplay became less a sexual action than a simple affirmation of everything they didn't need to say. Her eyes sparkled as the intensity rose, face somber. The connection was almost rehearsed, easy, and yet a shiver ran up his spine as their bodies met, as though he hadn't expected it. Her back arched to reveal a stunning view, hands wrapped around the back of his neck, eyes closed. The intimacy of the act, of the entire situation, overcame both. Perfect harmony seemed too ambiguous a definition, even as they came in unison, a skill they'd acquired long ago, the first time around. She smiled and curled up in his arms as they lay in impossible proximity, each beaming unconsciously.

"I love you, too, Abby." He whispered the words into her hair, letting the sentiment tangle through the strands in unison with his fingers.

She rolled to face him, still pressed against him. "You were right, when you said I was scared. I was. I am." She paused, wondering if he'd press, and was relieved when he didn't. "I've had enough failed relationships. I don't want anymore." Her fingers traced the length of his arm from elbow to shoulder. "I think…I think I loved Richard. And I think I even loved Carter, in some masochistic way. But not unconditionally…and not completely. I loved them when I wasn't being hurt, or hurting." A deep, shaking breath accentuated the depth of her admission. "I love you so much it scares me. Scares the _hell_ out of me."

He stroked her spine with one finger, up and down, for a few silent moments. "I'll never hurt you, Abby. Not again."

She smiled almost sadly. "Don't make promises you can't keep."

"I'll never mean to hurt you, then. And if I do, you can have me deported."

She laughed softly. "Take your green card away. It's a deal."

Silence hung in the air for a few more minutes as they lay together, breathing softly, both lost in thought. Finally, Luka cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Do you think you'll ever want to get married again?"

The sigh was almost inaudible, though not one of displeasure. He waited for her to gather her thoughts, continuing all the while to draw lines up and down her spine with one delicate finger. "I think…I don't even really know. My marriage was such a disaster…we got married because that's what seemed logical. Except it wasn't. It was just what we thought we were supposed to do. And I never want to do that again." He knew better than to interject, allowing her to formulate an answer in her roundabout way. "I guess marriage is logical for the obvious reasons. Children, taxes, next-of-kin and all that. Except…" She trailed off. "I don't want to get married because we _should_. I want to do it for some deeper reason. I mean," she rolled onto her back, gazing absently up at the ceiling, providing him with an appreciated view of her bare torso, hair splayed out in a halo around her face, forehead creased with thought, "we both know what we mean to one another, right? The only reason to get married is so _everyone else_ knows. Which seems sort of…silly."

The back of his hand ran over her stomach, just barely making contact. "Well, yeah." He propped himself up on one elbow to look at her. "But you and I have both been married before. And yeah, maybe it's a _silly_ tradition, but it's a tradition. Like Christmas trees."

"Did you really just compare getting married to a Christmas tree?" Her eyebrows arched.

He kissed her softly. "Shh. I'm making a point."

"By all means, then." A lopsided grin adorned her face.

He reached out to catch her hand, pressing a kiss to the palm, warm, luxurious, intimate. "I don't want to convince you to marry me. I want to marry you, but I want you to want it, as well."

"I'm a logical person, Luka. And it doesn't seem all that logical to me." She instantly regretted the way it sounded aloud. "I mean…I don't know. I don't want to get married just to get married. I've done that, and it didn't work."

"So you're afraid?"

"Not exactly." She caught his eye. "Well…yes. I don't want to muck this up."

He laughed softly. "We're way beyond that, if you haven't noticed. I'm pretty sure any 'mucking' would've happened already."

"True."

He pulled her closer, tucking her into his arms, kissing her forehead tenderly. "I know you like logic. You've been through med school. But sometimes…maybe there's no real logic to these things. Maybe it's deeper than that." One long finger whisked a strand of hair off her face. "I know there's nothing logical about what I feel about you."

She wrinkled her nose indignantly. "Thanks."

"You know what I mean."

"I suppose I might." She rested her lips over his clavicle, breathing in the scent of cologne, sweat, and antiseptic. _God_, she loved that smell. Illogical, indeed. "Luka." She tilted her head up to look him in the eye. "You're right. It doesn't make any sense. Marriage doesn't make sense." His face fell a bit, but she continued, cupping the side of his jaw with her palm. "But hearing you say it…there's this weird feeling."

"A feeling?"

"A feeling. In the pit of my stomach, like…like I want it. More than I want to want it."

"There's nothing wrong with that."

She curled into him, hugging him closer, needing that proximity once again. "Maybe not." She nuzzled him gently. "Maybe it's actually kind of nice."

Moonlight spilled through the draperies to illuminate her face, a soft glow that complimented her as though it had been fashioned solely to cast off her pale skin. She shivered slightly as a breeze gusted through the open window, and he pulled the quilt up to tuck around them, making the closeness even more intimate in the process. He craned his neck down to kiss her, warm, sweet, a dessert of kisses. "Marry me." He breathed the words across her lips.

She raised her eyes to his, searching for any hint he wasn't serious. "What?" The word came out sputtering, taken aback.

A smile melted over his lips. "Will you marry me?"

A thousand answers tangled in her mind, but only one slipped out, a whisper for him alone. "Yes."


End file.
